


Blue Tide Pulling Me Under

by fraxiinus



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But I Live In NYC So We're Cool Right?, Hux only knows a little more about how feelings work but not a lot, I actually like Armitage better so i'm a little salty about it, In which Phasma is cackling all the way from Georgia, Kylo Ren does not know how feelings work, Love/Hate, M/M, Obligatory NYC AU, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Written before the Armitage reveal so his name is Brendol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:37:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6164314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraxiinus/pseuds/fraxiinus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his roommate Phasma gets a job in Georgia and has to skip out on the end of their lease, upstart defense attorney Hux finds himself in need of someone to fill her room, and fast. So when Kylo Ren, freelance artist and general human enigma, shows up uninvited at his door and offers to pay cash for the room, well, he can’t exactly say no. Between the most important trial of his career looming around the corner and the walking tantrum who refuses to talk about himself now occupying his second bedroom, Hux's life is nothing but questions, but he did become a laywer to find answers, after all.</p><p>Based on bona--mana' lawyer/artist AU illustrations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting a multi-chapter fic, and i'm super nervous about it so any encouragement is really appreciated! Obligatory notes and such: The title is from Shark by Oh Wonder, which will be utilized later and is in general a great Kylux song. Hux has long hair because it's based on [bona--mana](http://bona--mana.tumblr.com)'s [lawyer/artist AU art](http://seerofsarcasm.com/tagged/bona-mana-btpmu) which I fell in love with and is what inspired me to write this story at all. This fic is dedicated to them and my amazing beta [vmprsm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vmprsm/pseuds/vmprsm) who keeps my tenses in check and is overall an awesome person who encouraged me a lot to start and post this! Please enjoy and let me know what you think, and [come chat with me on tumblr](http://seerofsarcasm.com/) once you're done!

“So are you going to spend the rest of my last night in town pouting in the corner, or are you going to have a drink with me?”

Hux peered up from the book he was currently hunched over to regard his (soon-to-be-ex) roommate. With one hand at her hip and the other holding two beers between her fingers, she stared at him with an expectant look that said she knew exactly what his answer would be before he had even opened his mouth. If he knew Phasma at all, and he knew Phasma very well, she probably did.

With the knowledge that putting up a fight would be useless he sighed and stood from his desk, putting a placeholder in the legal text in front of him, before walking past her and grabbing one of the dangling drinks from her hand. “That’s the spirit!” she chimed, slapping him on the back hard enough that he took an extra half-step forward. Phasma had two inches on him and was built like a brick house, but that was expected for the woman who just landed a position training new military recruits in Georgia. By contrast, Hux was just above six feet tall and all limbs, his body lithe and his face thin, framed by the copper colored hair he kept at just past chin length. If she wanted to, Phasma could probably toss him across the apartment, something that Hux was grateful she’d never done.

His feet felt heavy as he ascended the stairs leading to the roof they technically shouldn’t have had access to. Within the first week of living in the building Hux had gotten curious and walked upstairs to find the door to the roof unlocked, something that pleased him because he was far too old to be climbing onto fire escapes to smoke cigarettes like a teenager, and he detested loitering in front of the building. None of that mattered in the end, as Phasma had thrown his carton out as soon as she found out he smoked and promised to kick his ass if she found anymore. Regardless, the roof had become a regular spot for he and Phasma to go whenever they wanted to relax, or drink, or sit together in silence listening to the sounds of the neighborhood.

(Or anytime Hux wanted to smoke the rare cigarette, but Phasma didn’t need to know about that.)

The view wasn’t much. The building they lived in was only three stories tall not including the basement, and the somewhat taller buildings around them and down the street blocked any paltry view of Manhattan they could have managed. There wasn’t much to see at night either, the light pollution of the city erasing all but the brightest stars out of the sky. Sunset, however, was a bursting technicolor of pinks, oranges, and yellows, and was personally Hux’s favorite time to be outside. That time was now, he observed as he walked through the door, glancing up at the sky. The air was cool and breezy, but the last chills of winter had left, making way for spring. Glancing at the position of the sun, Hux figured they had less than an hour of light left.

Phasma let out a satisfied hum as she passed him to sit on one of the two cheap lawn chairs they had hauled up one day when they had decided they were on the roof a little too much to pretend it wasn’t ‘a spot’ for them. The chair sank more than it should, letting out a plastic squeak, its age finally beginning to show. “I’m gonna miss this the most I think,” she said, patting the chair next to her without looking back.

“Really, the roof is what you’ll miss? And here I thought it would have been my sparkling personality,” Hux deadpanned, sitting next to her and taking a swig of his beer. Phasma let out one of her loud barks of a laugh, grin splitting her face with more ease than that of anyone Hux had ever known.

“You know I’ll miss you too, Carrot-Top, you and your moods,” she retorted, eyes sparkling with the remnants of her laughter when she called Hux by his most hated nickname, and he flipped her off in response. She had coined ‘Carrot-Top’ for him two years prior, near when they had first moved in together. A particularly humid and rainy day combined with being soaked by a puddle and a passing bus had made his hair frizz to hell by the time he got home. He walked through the door frustrated and just wanting a shower, and Phasma had laughed so hard at the sight of him she almost fell off the couch.

They had a lot of good memories like that. It was a combination of luck and perfect timing that they had ended up living together. Phasma was the daughter of an old connection of his father’s, and his old man put them in contact when Hux decided to move to the city to pursue his career as a defense attorney away from his father’s firm. It just so happened that she was tired of living in Queens and was looking for a roommate at the same time that Hux was. They were instant friends, and had lived together in the same small two-bedroom in Park Slope they currently occupied for two and a half years since then.

Glancing over at Phasma, Hux thought about how much he would miss her when she was gone. He hadn’t been able to hide his melancholy for the last few weeks, and every time she tried to pull him out of it he seemed to only feel worse, which frustrated them both. She was solid in a lot of ways that Hux simply wasn’t, and not just in physique. She always had this way of making him feel like everything would be all right, even when she was telling him a hard truth he didn’t want to hear, or when things were, very decidedly, not actually going to be all right. Military background or not, she was a good leader, not only because she could command respect, but because she had a way of making everyone under her command know she was there for them regardless of if she said it out loud. She ran a hand through her hair absentmindedly, and in the light of the sunset her blonde locks looked almost golden, her blue eyes reflecting every color in the sky.

If they both weren’t gay as sin Hux imagined he would probably be head over heels for her.

He apparently stared for longer that he intended to, because Phasma looked over and regarded him with a softer look than before.

“Hux.”

“Yes?”

“I’m not dying.”

“I’m aware.”

“Great!” she exclaimed, raising her free hand in the air before slapping it on her thigh for emphasis, “now that we’ve established that, can you stop looking like you’re attending my fucking funeral?”

Hux let out a loud, gurgling groan and sank down in his chair with his beer held between his legs. His bony fingers reached up to drag down his face in an exaggerated gesture, which did its job of making Phasma giggle and him finally snort out a short laugh. A small smile graced his lips, peeking out from between his fingers. He stayed slumped instead of straightening up, his long legs bending up and his back arched just short of uncomfortable. Phasma was the only person he’d ever been comfortable letting himself be discomposed around, yet another reason her departure was so distressing.

“You’re not exactly making it easy, what with the short notice and all,” he retorted, plucking his beer from between his legs and drinking it in earnest this time. The news that she had been chosen for the position had come at the very end of the previous month, leaving her only a few weeks to pack her things, arrange her transportation, and place everything else she owned in storage. It was a temporary assignment of nine months, after which they could decide if she would stay full time.

She sighed next to him and slunk lower in her own chair, somewhat out of guilt and somewhat out of exhaustion from the last few whirlwind weeks, cradling her drink and staring up at the sky. “I know, but the last person to have the job left very suddenly, and you know how much it means to me. I’ve been trying to get in a leadership role like that for years.”

“I know, and I’m happy for you,” Hux replied in earnest, feeling guilty for making her apologize. It was her dream, after all.

“I know you are, Hux, and it means a lot,” she responded, matching his tone. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks, staring out at nothing in particular, and letting the light wash over them as it faded across the city. This, this was Hux’s favorite time. Sitting on the roof with Phasma, drinking whatever beer was on sale that week, saying nothing. Listening to the wind, the noises of the people on the street below, the laughter from the bar at the corner. Hux spent so much of his time at work talking to people that it was nice to be able to sit with someone and simply exist.

Phasma was the one to finally break the silence after a couple of moments. “So,” she started, turning towards him with a mischievous look on her face and an eyebrow wiggle, “have you found my replacement yet?”

Hux’s hand moved to squeeze the bridge of his nose as he let out a small groan, knowing exactly where her inquiry was going. Finding a new roommate was something he knew he was going to have to do soon, but the idea of it was something he was admittedly trying to avoid. He wasn’t necessarily picky, but he knew no one would be as compatible with him as Phasma was, and the idea of coming home to someone who wasn’t her was still too depressing to think about. “No, I haven’t, and honestly I haven’t even started looking.”

Phasma stared at him with the same grin as before, and it filled Hux with apprehension. There was one more reason that he hadn’t been looking for a roommate, and it was the exact thing he was sure Phasma was about to bring up. “The first of the month is in two weeks,” she stated simply.

“I’m aware,” he replied, cautious.

“You know, there are Facebook groups-“

Hux threw his head back and made a loud, frustrated noise at the sky, but Phasma didn’t stop talking.

“- _specifically_ for gay people looking for housing. Cute gay men! And women! But a lot of men! I used it when I first moved here, found a really nice girl-“

“Phasma,” Hux tried to cut her off.

“-she always paid her rent on time, plus she was super cute-“

“ _Phasma_.”

“-she was a gymnast, couldn’t clean worth a damn but wow, did she make up for it in other ways-“

“Phasma!”

The third time was the charm. She ( _blessedly_ , Hux thought to himself) stopped talking and turned to him with an innocent look on her face, which he returned with a scowl.

“I’m not looking for a _boyfriend_ , I’m looking for a _roommate_ ,” he stated, matter-of-fact, before tipping his bottle up a little more than he should. Phasma was well-intentioned, probably because she knew Hux’s relationship history could be described as lackluster at best, and sordid at worst. He had never had an interest in girls, and despite successfully staying single and in the closet for most of his youth, was outed by his classmates in his junior year of high school. One of them had pretended to be interested just long enough to get Hux in a closet at a party where someone could bust in with a camera, forever damaging his reputation and his trust. The images circulated online for about a week before his father found out about them, used his pull as one of the private school’s biggest patrons to punish the students who did it, and had the photo removed with a stern warning on what would happen to those students if it surfaced again. Surprising, Hux had thought at the time, the way you can get something off the internet if you threaten people outside of it enough.

He had imagined his father would be furious with him for the entire ordeal, but it seemed being gay and being gullible were on equal measure with each other and of all the other disappointing things he turned out to be in Brendol Hux the First’s eyes. His sexuality never even came up in conversation. That night his mother made him his favorite supper to make him feel better, gave him a pat and kiss on the head before bed, and the subject was never approached again. It never had to be, as all through college and law school Hux had never had a successful enough relationship to bring anyone home, and as an adult his partners’ complaints were the same as they were when he was in school.

You work too much, you care too little, you’re never home, you’re not ‘emotionally available.’

Whatever the hell _that_ meant.

“So,” Phasma chimed, breaking Hux out of his momentary trip down shit memory lane, “if no Facebook, how are you going to go about finding a new roommate?”

Hux shrugged, nonchalant. He had a couple ideas tossing around in his head, overall he was just looking for someone who could move in the next two weeks, had the money for the rent, and didn’t get in his way. He wasn’t looking for a connection. “I don’t know,” he said finally, “I was thinking Craigslist?”

Phasma stared at him like he had grown a second head, and Hux squirmed under her gaze. “What?” he asked, defensive.

“Have you ever even _made_ a Craigslist ad?”

Hux shot her an insulted look. “Well, no, but it can’t be hard, I do have a law degree. Besides, it’s probably where most people are looking for a short sublet, right?”

“Or a murder victim.”

“Well then maybe you should stay, you know, so I don’t end up on one of those true crime dramas you like to think I don’t hear you watching at 2 AM,” Hux shot back, smiling and taking the last swig of his beer in victory as Phasma lifted a hand to her chest in mock-offense. Her face held such a stark contrast between her wide open mouth and the smile in her eyes that Hux couldn’t help but start laughing, and Phasma followed suit.

Their bottles were empty and discarded by the time the last of the sun’s rays had disappeared over the horizon.

He was going to miss this.

—

After two hours of staring at his computer, Hux was really starting to regret waiting until Phasma was gone and there were only a few days left in the month to write the ad for subletting her room. She had been right to look surprised when he mentioned Craigslist, as it was becoming increasingly clear to him that the website had a status-quo of grammar and rhetoric that didn’t exactly _match up_ with his own. He had attempted to look at the other listings to use as an outline, but most were written in all-caps, covered in stock photos and clearly posted by brokers in the area. No matter how much he erased and re-wrote, he couldn’t help but feel it was still too…formal.

Glancing at the clock, Hux saw there were only ten minutes left before he needed to leave in order to catch the train that would deposit him outside his office with enough time to grab an egg sandwich at the bodega next door. He let out a small huff and put his fingers on the keys again, reviewing what he had thus far.

**ROOM IN PARK SLOPE 2BDRM FOR SUBLET - $1100/mo**

I am looking for a subletter to fill the second bedroom in my apartment until the end of the lease in five months, ideally moving in before the 1st. The unit is a two bedroom, one bath second floor walk up in a three story building and located 2 avenue and 3 street blocks from the 9th St/4th Ave F/G/R stop. It has a comfortable kitchen/living room, the bedroom for rent is sizable and has a street-facing window. The heat and hot water are included in the rent, utilities are generally $120 a month for electric and internet. I am looking for someone who will keep mainly to themselves, pay rent in a timely manner, and will not smoke in the unit.

For more information or to view the room, please contact me.

_Brendol Hux_

Reading it over, Hux felt it still sounded off, but it covered all the needed information, and perhaps formality would work in his favor for getting a level-headed roommate. He had almost clicked the link to post it when Millicent, his orange tabby, woke from her slumber and padded over to weave between his legs, letting out a soft meow. Hux smiled before reaching down with one hand to affectionately scratch her head. “Sorry, Milly, can’t forget about you,” he crooned before typing a quick _‘Must not have any cat allergies’_ at the end, double checking that the address was right, hitting post, and closing his computer.

As he placed the laptop in his brown briefcase, double checking he had all the papers he would need for the day, another glance at the clock told him it was 6:25 AM. He would hopefully have some answers to his ad by the time he got back home, and could arrange some showings before bed. If he was lucky, he could get someone moved in just in time for the next months rent to be due.

With one last affectionate pat for Millicent, who gave him a small chirp in response between bites of the breakfast she was now focused on, Hux was out the door.

—

It was 9:38 PM. Hux had gotten home from work, showered, made his dinner, fed Millicent, set aside his papers for the next day, replied to the two people who had e-mailed him interested in the room, and completed all of his other nightly rituals. He was relaxing on the couch with his nose in a book that came as close to leisure reading as he could manage (a nonfiction retelling of a Supreme Court case in 1992), with Millicent purring contently in his lap.

Or he would be, if his eyes weren’t glued to the clock on the far wall. He blinked, readjusting his gaze to see if he was mistaken, but he wasn’t.

It was 9:38 at _night_.

So who the _hell_ was knocking on his door?

The first knock had been peculiar, but easy to ignore. It wouldn’t be the first time a delivery boy had knocked on the wrong apartment before realizing his mistake. It was the second knock, ten seconds later, more forceful, that had caused Hux to look up from his book and regard the time. He waited a moment, hoping whoever was there would simply leave when he didn’t answer. Upon hearing no footsteps walking away, he marked his page, put his book down, lifted Millicent from his lap and walked over to the door, fully intent on telling off whoever had the gall of showing up uninvited at this time of night.

He swung open the door with more force than proper, but the quip he had in his head died in his throat. Standing in front of him was a man only slightly taller than himself, but broader, the tight doorframe doing nothing to diminish how large he looked. He was dressed in dark but loose clothing and, aside from his pale face, everything about him reminded Hux ridiculously of a shadow. From his dark wash jeans and charcoal grey v-neck to the black hair just tickling the bottom of his face and the bags under his eyes. He looked about Hux’s age, maybe a few years younger. His eyes were dark, just the faintest hint of brown, and they were…staring.

Right at Hux.

“Can I- Can I help you?” Hux managed to get out upon that realization, only a few seconds later than proper. He hated himself for stuttering, but figured the circumstances could warrant an excuse.

The expression on the pale face in front of him changed to one of mild confusion and annoyance, regarding Hux like he should know already. “You posted about a room for rent?” the stranger asked. His voice was deep, gruff, almost raspy, but still somehow quieter than Hux had expected it to be. He only had a moment to contemplate the stranger’s voice and wonder what exactly he had expected, however, until what the man had said registered.

“I’m sorry, but how _exactly_ did you know which apartment I was?” Hux asked, standing up a little straighter and letting the initial shock out of his system. He had included the address in the listing of course, but there were nine units in the building, and he had specifically left his apartment number off to avoid exactly this. “And on top of that, how did you even _get in the building_?”

The dark haired stranger shifted on his feet and let out a huff, like he was irritated at the situation and the questions being asked of him. It was astonishing to Hux, who didn’t even have shoes on, that this stranger would be irritated at him when _he_ was the one to show up uninvited on Hux’s doorstep. The absolute gall.

“The guy from 1B was coming home when I showed up and I followed him in. And if you really don’t want people to know your unit, don’t sign your name at the end of the ad next time Einstein, considering it’s also on your mailbox.”

The answer was probable, and almost excusable, but Hux still made a mental note to talk to his neighbor about letting people into the building who he didn’t recognize. In reality Hux was one to talk, in his time here he still only barely knew what half the people in his building looked like and probably would have made the same mistake, but his current lingering irritation clouded out his potential sympathy for his downstairs neighbor.

The stranger stared at him, waiting for a reply, and upon receiving none spoke up again. “Are you going to let me see the room or not?”

Now, if you asked him, Hux would say he had no idea why he felt compelled to step aside and let the dark haired man walk past him into the open space of his living room. The obvious answer would be that more people looking at the room would get it filled faster, or that the entire situation caught Hux so off-guard that he wasn’t thinking properly. The less obvious answer was the nagging part of Hux’s gut that for some reason had to see where this encounter was going to go.

Taking long strides through the entranceway, the stranger passed a hand over the countertop to his left before making his way to the living room. The apartment was sizable by New York standards, certainly bigger than anything you could find in Manhattan for the price. The kitchen consisted of two countertops parallel to each other with enough space for two people in the middle, the one closest to the door stood bare aside from a coffee maker and a stack of unread mail, the other housing the stove, sink, microwave, and a refrigerator to the far right. Past the kitchen was the sizable living room (the perk that had made Hux and Phasma choose the apartment in the first place) which fit a full couch against the far left wall and a coffee table in front of it while still having enough space to move comfortably around. There was a small, basic desk and chair set up underneath the street-facing window on the far wall, which mostly housed Hux’s papers and current projects. Next to it stood a tall but thin bookshelf, filled largely with legal text, the three bottom shelves empty where Phasma’s things had been.

Brown eyes took in everything, the stranger’s face giving no indication on his reaction to the apartment. Hux noted that he took everything in evenly, however his eyes lingered on the mostly bare walls, the only thing hanging in the room being a somewhat ornate looking clock to his right. The stark white walls reflected the light in the room back onto the stranger, who seemed much less intimidating standing in the open expanse of the living room. “No TV?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

“No cable,” came Hux’s reply, “we have high speed internet, if you want to watch anything you can stream it.” He startled himself a little, talking to this odd person in his living room as if he was actually considering letting him live here, until Hux realized that, well, he hadn’t exactly decided he wasn’t. Hux could see him a little better now that he was out of the dimmer light of the hallway, the man’s face was soft aside from the sharp angle of his nose, and despite his large amount of hair Hux could see the very tips of his ears poking out from the black mess. His neck and face were accentuated by small black spots, freckles or moles he couldn’t tell. Even from where Hux was standing at the end of the kitchen counter he could see that the man’s eyelashes were long and dark, the contrast probably the only reason you could see the brown in his eyes at all. He was tall, lean, and admittedly handsome in his own ridiculous way.

More than anything though, he carried himself in a way that Hux was so fundamentally unfamiliar with he found himself staring for longer than probably appropriate. The same nagging in his stomach that let the stranger in wanted desperately to know what kind of person could possibly feel so at ease with himself that he shows up to a stranger’s apartment at almost ten at night and walks in like he’s been there for years.

Hux had become a lawyer to find answers, after all.

Seemingly finished with his initial look around the apartment, the stranger turned to regard the small hallway to his right. It had two doors on either side, the left leading to Phasma’s old room, the right to Hux’s. At the end of the hall was the door to the unit’s basic shared bathroom. Hux anticipated what the man’s next question would be and stepped forward, walking down the hall and opening the door to the empty bedroom before he could ask. The stranger followed, stepping through the doorway and into the room. He took a cursory look around, peeking out the window and then opening the door to the small closet in the corner, the floors creaking slightly under his weight, his face once again giving no indication of how he felt about what he was seeing.

Finally, after a minute of silent inspection (the stranger looking at the room, Hux looking at the stranger) he came to stop in front of Hux. “I’ll take it,” he said simply, not breaking eye contact with the shorter man in front of him.

Once again, Hux found himself taken aback by the stranger’s startling confidence and slight audacity. “You assume I’ll give it to you,” he responded bluntly, for some reason determined not to let the shadow of a man have what he thought he could take so easily, “I don’t know anything about you. Do you have a job to pay rent? Do you cook? Clean? Do you even have a name?”

Hux watched the stranger’s expression shift from neutral to analyzing. Clearly he wasn’t incredibly experienced in people not handing him whatever he wanted, or he at least didn’t expect Hux to actually try to deny him what he came there for. The man regarded Hux like it was the first time he was actually seeing him, looking him up and down, taking him in, his dark eyes leaving a slightly uncomfortable feeling of being laid bare in their wake. Finally his eyes made their way back up to Hux’s own, bearing into him. He smirked, and Hux swore he saw a mischievous gleam in his eye when he did it. Reaching into his back pocket the stranger fished around for a moment before producing a thick, white, unmarked envelope that had been folded in half, handing it to Hux who took it without breaking eye contact. Hux made sure to give him a pointed, suspicious look before averting his eyes to open the envelope, and he almost fell over after peeking inside.

It was cash. By the looks of the thick stack of one hundred dollar bills, a decent amount of it.

“Five months, fifty-five hundred dollars, according to the ad. I can pay it up front. After that, I figure what I do doesn’t matter. I’m a fair cook, and I clean the messes I make,” the stranger said, speaking to the top of Hux’s head as he counted out the cash to double check the amount. Five thousand five hundred dollars, exactly. Of all the things he expected, being handed an envelope of money wasn’t at the top of it, but Hux had held more in his life, so he was able to keep his composure over the surprise of it all. He began to stuff the money back into it’s packaging, mentally considering his options.

“And it’s Kylo Ren.”

That made Hux look up.

“That’s your name? Really? _Kylo Ren_?”

“Yes. I’d ask yours, _Brendol_ , but we already established that you signed it at the bottom of a Craigslist ad.”

Fresh irritation sparked in the back of Hux’s mind, and for a moment he considered turning the offer away and kicking the stranger - no, Kylo Ren, what a ridiculous name - out on his ass. It wouldn’t be hard, perhaps even called for, and he did have a couple of other people interested in the room. He could easily shove the envelope back in his hand, tell him to leave, to get the hell out of his home, and be done with this entire surreal experience and this ridiculous man.

And yet.

He told himself it was the rapidly encroaching first of the month, and the security of knowing he wouldn’t have to worry about someone potentially unreliable skipping out on rent. He told himself it was not the curiosity beginning to claw at him about the man in front of him. He told himself it wasn’t how begrudgingly handsome he found him, regardless of if he would admit it. He told himself a lot of things, but when he opened his mouth, he didn’t quite know which it was that rang true.

“Alright, you know what, fine. You have no tact, or sense of timing, considering you decided it appropriate to show up at my door this late at night, but I care more about filling this room than any of that, and as far as I can tell you aren’t an axe murderer.” As he said it he exited the bedroom, Kylo Ren following close behind. As they re-entered the living room, Hux turned his head. “I’ll call you this week to set up moving in. How soon can you do it?”

“Tomorrow,” Kylo replied, “I don’t have a lot, it’ll only take a few trips.”

Hux nodded and grabbed a spare pen and paper from his desk, turning to Kylo. “Great. Write your number on this paper and I’ll call you when I get home from work, which is generally around six. If you don’t have a lot it shouldn’t be a problem to start that late.”

Kylo took the paper without a word, scribbled his number on it and handed it back. His penmanship was sloppy, but legible, and Hux could see how Kylo’s handwriting took care to make sure the four and nine looked different to avoid confusion. He took it and walked towards the apartment entrance, setting the pen and paper on the kitchen counter as he passed. Hux opened the door, standing next to it, and Kylo walked past him without a word, turning around only once he passed the threshold. “I’ll be here around six, then,” he said simply.

“You will,” Hux agreed, “I’ll see you then.”

He watched as Kylo turned away, heading to the stairs at the end of the hall. His long strides put him there in only a few steps, and Hux couldn’t help but relish the view, just a little, before he remembered something.

“Oh, and Ren,” Hux called after him, deciding that ‘Kylo’ is was little too ridiculous of a name to actually use out loud. Kylo turned and looked up right before he reached the stairs and locked eyes with Hux, expectant. His gaze bore into him again, like he could see straight into the older man’s core, see all his secrets, but Hux stared back, unafraid.

“Don’t call me Brendol.”

For the briefest flash of a moment, Kylo’s lips turned up into a smile that split his face and made his dark eyes brighten, but in a second it was gone, along with the small huff he let out before turning back around.

“See you tomorrow, Hux,” he called as he descends the stairs, one arm up in a lazy, haphazard wave goodbye.

Hux kind of hated him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a lot of me building my characterization for Hux and detailing his job and the case he's working on so the beginning is kind of thicc, stick with me though because now we're getting into full swing and i'm so excited to write more! As always, dedicated to [bona--mana](http://bona--mana.tumblr.com) who continues to make incredible art and my amazing beta [vmprsm](http://archiveofourown.org/users/vmprsm/pseuds/vmprsm). Come [chat with me on tumblr](http://fraxinus.tumblr.com/) when you're done!

Hux could count on his hand the number of times he had ever been late for something in his life. It didn’t matter if it had been school, work, or even simply coming downstairs when dinner was ready, punctuality was a heavily prided Hux family value, and one Brendol Hux Sr. had ingrained in his son from a young age. After he left for college Hux appreciated it a bit more than he had in high school, the habit of being early for everything he did going on to put him in the good graces of his favored professors, and eventually his employers.

All of this Hux contemplated as he laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling and making no motion to rise despite his alarm having gone off five minutes prior. His morning was specifically regimented, he knew if he stayed in bed any longer he ran the risk of missing the train he normally took, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t quite get himself to move.

The memory of the night previous had returned to him after he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. At first he had thought maybe the dark haired stranger had been a dream, a fantasy he cooked up to bring some interest to his life, but soon the memory and his name - Ren - came crashing back to him and he let out a groan, covering his eyes from the blasted sun that was beaming straight into his face. Normally it was a warm way to wake him up in the mornings.

 _Today_ , Hux thought to himself, _I’d rather see it destroyed_.

After exactly one more minute of allowing himself to dread his day from the comfort of his bed Hux rose, disturbing Millicent from her sleep. She made a small noise of irritation when he moved the leg she had been resting on, but soon repositioned herself on the rumpled sheets he cast aside, making herself comfortable. Normally Hux would remake his bed immediately after rising, but after he had needed to spend half an hour coaxing his poor cat out from under the desk once Ren had left (she had hid when he entered, her aversion to him duly noted in Hux’s mind) he figured she deserved a few extra minutes of comfort.

Despite its slow start, Hux tried to get his morning going as normally as he could. Entering the bathroom he began the ritual of brushing his teeth, combing his hair back behind his ears (trying not to think about how _big_ Ren’s must be to still poke out of that mess he called hair), then washing and shaving his face. When he looked in the mirror he saw himself as he had every morning. The same pale face, the same ginger hair, the same assortment of freckles and blue-green eyes staring back at him.

Hux was surprised to feel relief, as if saying yes to Ren’s offer last night could have made him into a different person, and was happy not to see a stranger's face in the mirror.

After finishing his bathroom duties he checked his e-mails and replied to any that were time-sensitive, attended to Millicent’s breakfast, made his bed, and dressed himself in the clothes he had ready for the day. Dressing well had always been something of an armor for him. His black slacks were kept up with a matching belt and plain rectangular silver buckle, his tucked-in white button-down shirt pressed within an inch of its life, dark grey tie in perfect alignment at his neck. The last thing he did was slip on his black loafers and grab his briefcase, double checking his papers.

As he walked out the door he glanced at the time on his microwave, which blinked 6:35. He reflexively scowled. He wouldn’t be late to work, but he would miss his usual train, and would have to skip grabbing breakfast before he went into the office. A fantastic way to start his day, when in less than twelve hours he would be ushering… _whatever_ Kylo Ren was into his home.

—

Hux couldn’t remember how much time he had poured into reviewing the documentation in front of him, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t particularly want to. In the hours since he arrived at his office he had managed to work himself into almost a trance, doing his best to follow any errant train of thought that may lead him to a conclusion he hadn’t considered yet. His intense focus, and frustration at its lack of productive results, took all his attention, keeping him from hearing the light footsteps as they entered his cramped office.

“Sir?”

Startled, Hux quickly raised his head to see who had spoken, eyes falling on the office manager of the firm he worked in. He was a slight man with black hair and a shy smile, short by some standards but lean and well-groomed. Hux was fond of him, he knew just the right amount of small talk to keep himself pleasant while refraining from becoming irritating, a fine line that not many knew how to tread.

“Yes, Mitaka?” he replied, glancing down at the file marked ‘NYPD Statement Reports’ held in the shorter man’s arms.

Mitaka stepped closer, coming around to the side of Hux’s desk and setting the file down gingerly, as not to disturb anything Hux had set out.

“Here are those witness statements you requested, I’m sorry I couldn’t expedite them more, but I think they’ve started slowing you down on purpose.” When Hux shot him a curious glance Mitaka sighed, clarifying. “They aren’t pleased at how far you’re digging into their investigation.”

Hux rolled his eyes and grabbed the file, setting it in front of him without regard for disturbing what was underneath. As he began to flip through the documents he didn’t fail to notice that Mitaka was shifting on his feet, but not retreating from the side of his desk. Hux knew what he was hoping for, and this late in the day his mind was tired enough that he was happy to oblige.

“Did you have a chance to look over these before you brought them?” he asked conversationally, and didn’t need to be looking at Mitaka to see how the younger man instinctively straightened up when addressed. Perhaps his family had been military, Hux had never really bothered to ask, he just knew that Mitaka had an interest in law, occasionally had good ideas, and today had the potential to save him half an hour in extra reading by summarizing the stack of papers in front of him.

“Yes, sir. Most of it is true to what the department said, almost all of the neighbors heard or saw nothing suspicious the day the victim disappeared. A few made comments about his activity in the year that he lived in the building, but they seem mostly inconsequential. According to the neighbor that shared the wall with his bedroom he was a ladies man if the noises she heard were any indication, but I’m not sure if that information is relevant. She does note that she stopped hearing them abruptly a month before the murder however, do you know if they looked into any ex-girlfriends?”

As Mitaka spoke, Hux flipped through the papers, locating the specific statement being referenced. His eyes took in the information in tandem with Mitaka’s observations, slotting them both in the appropriate places in his mind for future reference. Hux had been working on this case for much longer than he would have liked, and with the trial date only a month and a half away he was still struggling to bring about a solid defense that incurred reasonable doubt. Any information was good information, at this point.

When Mitaka finished speaking he stood still, waiting for Hux’s response. It came on exasperated breath despite himself. “According to the investigation report any women he was known to have had liaisons with had alibis for the days between his disappearance and discovery. The rest were unfortunately one-night stands with no motive for killing him. Thank you, Mitaka, you can go.”

Mitaka seemed disappointed but nodded and turned, walking out of the office and leaving the older man to his thoughts. This wasn’t the first difficult case Hux had been presented in his life, the challenge of it all being what had drawn him to a career as a defense attorney in the first place. _Law is a careful puzzle of facts and interpretation,_ , Brendol Hux Sr. had told him constantly growing up, _it is as impermeable as a brick wall, but as malleable as dough. It can be manipulated to anyone’s benefit, but only if you learn to master it first._

The elder Hux had been one of the most prolific prosecutors in Chicago, starting from a small company and eventually climbing to become a partner at one of the biggest firms in the city. He had signed Hux up for the debate team when he entered high school, and the rest was relative history. Hux had taken incredibly well to debate, and prided himself in being able to pinpoint the exact weakness in his opponent's argument, skillfully prying it open with his words into a gaping wound that they couldn’t recover from. It was a form of verbal savagery that satiated his dormant need to rip something apart, and provided an incredible outlet for his home frustrations.

Defense was much more interesting than prosecution, in Hux’s humble opinion. It was simple to convince a jury that someone was guilty of something. The much more complicated process was in convincing them that someone wasn’t. The more guilty his client, the more Hux enjoyed his trials.

He sometimes entertained the idea that a normal person may not find it thrilling to help the guilty wiggle out of their punishments, but growing up surrounded by law had successfully numbed his moral compass in that regard, seeing his clients as mere objectives, their freedom the prize for his cunning and dedication.

His client now, however, was an entirely different matter. Reaching across his desk he grabbed and flipped through the notebook that he used to keep track of his thoughts and started, once again, from the beginning.

His client’s name was Daniel Morrow, a thirty-eight year old construction worker who had been with the same company for almost twelvr years. He was being accused of murdering his co-worker, Richard Kimball, who had recently been selected over Daniel to take over the business, despite Richard having only been with the company for a few years. By most standards, it was a fairly open-and-shut case, and the authorities had treated it as such. Daniel claimed he had been sick at home the day of Richard’s murder, however he lived alone, and there wasn’t a single person or piece of evidence that could verify his alibi. On top of that he had gotten into an altercation with the victim at his apartment a week before the murder, had access to the restricted site where the body had been dumped, and had the most motive out of anyone investigated. It was a case that Hux had originally declined to take at first, believing it to be too uninteresting, but after he had met with Daniel in the confidential room of the jail he was being held in awaiting his trial Hux had changed his mind.

Staring across the regulation table in the room designated for inmates to speak with their lawyers, seeing the terror in his eyes, the fear, the absolute desperation for anyone to believe his story, Hux started to believe the poor son-of-a-bitch was _actually_ innocent.

In the month since Hux had spent hours pouring over every piece of collected evidence he could get his hands on. A man can only be convicted of murder if they’re found guilty without a reasonable doubt, and _somewhere_ out there that exact doubt was probably sitting back in a comfortable chair, drinking brandy and thinking he had gotten away with murder. That he had bested the system (that he had bested _him_ ) and that he was home free.

Hux wanted to personally drag him to hell.

Another hour passed of Hux again combing over the information he had been given or managed to pry from the hands of the investigators, the notebook he kept at his side slowly filling with strings of thoughts and vague timelines. The lack of investigation into other potential suspects led to a frustratingly scant few statements for Hux to work off of, and his notes reflected that.

_Victim leaves apartment at 9:30 AM, security footage shows exit from building. ~~Check stores on the block.~~ Doesn’t appear on any other footage from local stores, or footage unavailable. Rest of street has no exterior cameras. Superintendent confirms recorded departure time._

_Woman next door mentions bedroom noises ending one month previous. ~~Look into previous liaisons for motive? Known alibis check out.~~ Most recent says she was last with him two months prior, neighbor Patricia Hanson statement of bedroom noises up to one month prior contradicts. See if any unknown liaisons can be found._

_Original mention of Daniel came from neighbor Landon Hoagland, apartment 2B. Mentioned seeing Daniel after altercation 8 days before murder, superintendent confirms altercation. Statement reads over-the-top versus client story. ~~Investigate?~~ Landon upstate with wife the week surrounding murder._

_Daniel’s neighbors: Unhelpful, detached, kept mostly to himself, no character witnesses. Downstairs neighbor deaf ~~of all fucking things~~ can’t confirm he was home day of murder._

_872 members have access to body dump site. List includes all coworkers at victim’s company and most handymen in Bensonhurst. Investigate recent repair work to apartment? Plumbers, handymen?_

Hux stared blankly at his notes, trying to will connections to form in his head. The statements from the victim’s neighbors and coworkers all aligned with the same theory: his client was angry that the owner of his company was handing the keys over to the victim, and he was vocal about it. Almost every co-worker interviewed mentioned it when asked if the victim had any enemies, but they also mentioned that they could never imagine his client actually going so far as to kill him. However, the confrontation eight days previous to the murder had been heard by multiple neighbors, the one in 2B having actually seen Daniel leave, or so he claims.

It was the man in 2B, Hoagland, that kept drawing Hux’s eye. Like a gravitational pull, something kept nagging at him to re-read his statement. It had been clear, precise, and too straight-to-the-point, but every time he tried to comb over the evidence he again hit the same brick wall. No motive, and an absolutely perfect alibi.

A little too perfect, if you asked Hux.

Hux finally broke his eyes away from his papers long enough to glance at the clock and cursed under his breath. It was half past five already, and he would be late getting home to let Ren into the apartment. He briefly considered the option of staying at work and texting Ren, saying he was caught up at the office and would have to move him in tomorrow, but it seemed bad form to start their…arrangement off with such a tactless move. He pulled his briefcase up from the floor next to him and reached into the pocket that held the slip of paper Ren had written his number on the previous night. Hux plugged the numbers into his phone and shot off a quick text before he began the process of ordering his papers and choosing what he was going to take home that night.

_To: K. Ren  
I’m going to be late getting back, I will be there at 6:30 to let you in._

He waited a moment to see if Ren would respond, but upon receiving nothing immediately back set about the work of clearing his desk. He organized his files, placing the ones he wanted to continue to review in his bag and the rest in a neat pile on the side of his desk, shutting off the light as he exited towards the elevators that would take him to the building’s grand lobby and through to the busy rush hour streets of Manhattan.

His phone buzzed right as he was about to descend the stairs into the signal-bare subway stop closest to his building, and he reached into his pocket to see a text from Ren. Hux opened it, unsure of what to expect.

_To: B. Hux  
K_

He rolled his eyes, unsurprised at the quick, improper response, before descending the stairs to wait for the train that would take him straight home.

—

As Hux rounded the corner to the street his apartment was on he noticed a sizable van parked in front of his building that he hadn’t seen when he left. The sides had a decal for a local rental service, and he assumed it was probably Ren’s, surprised that his new roommate was actually punctual given his irregular sense of timing the previous night. Seeing no one in the truck or outside, Hux entered the building and checked his mail before ascending the stairs, a gut feeling telling him he knew exactly where Kylo Ren was.

As his floor came into view Hux found that he had been right. Ren was waiting at his door with a few boxes stacked next to him. He was dressed in loose jeans, a shirt with the logo of what Hux assumed must be a band with a completely unpronounceable name, and a pair of very clearly old combat boots. His hair seemed like it hadn’t been brushed since he saw it the night before, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than Hux remembered.

“You know, I might as well not give you a key to the building considering you seem to get in on your own no problem,” he chastised, unlocking the door and stepping inside. He could hear Ren behind him grabbing the boxes and following him, saying nothing as he passed through the living room and into Phasma’s - no, now his - room. Hux huffed at the lack of reply and entered the kitchen area, grabbing himself a glass of water before turning and leaning against the counter as Ren emerged from his room.

“Need any help?” Hux asked, reminding himself to at least make an attempt at being amicable.

Ren made a noise in response that sounded almost like a scoff, continuing to walk towards the door. “I've got it, I don’t think you could lift what I have.”

“Suit yourself,” Hux replied sharply, mildly insulted as Ren walked back out the door. He swung his briefcase on the empty counter across from him, beginning to rummage through it and pluck out the papers he wanted to look over first. As he did Millicent rose from her spot on the couch to come weave through his legs. He smiled, squatting down to give her an affectionate scratch, glad that her shyness around Ren from the previous night seemed not to have stuck. When he straightened his legs to stand back up he caught sight of Ren entering the room, this time with what appeared to be…an easel, of all things, tucked under his arm.

This piqued Hux’s interest. “You’re an artist?” he asked, trying to keep his tone conversational despite Ren’s previous jab at how slight he was. Looking at Ren’s comparably lumbering frame, an artist was not the first thing he had pictured when he thought of the younger man’s career.

Ren responded with a short affirmative noise, entering his room just long enough to put the easel down before coming back out. “Yeah, I’m working on it,” he answered dismissively before heading back out. This time Hux watched and waited for him to come back up, curious as to what else he’d be holding. A minute later Ren returned, this time with two large portfolio binders tucked under his arm, one looked to be about the size of a poster but the other reached from right under the crook of Ren’s arm almost down to his thighs, and was even longer the other direction.

“Working on it appears to be the optimal word, if both of those are full,” Hux observed as Ren repeated the motion of dropping his belongings and returning to the living room. He didn’t reply, but this time instead of heading straight towards the door he entered the kitchen and began opening cabinets, starting with the one closest to him. Hux could sense what he was looking for.

“Cups are above the sink.”

Ren paused but again said nothing, moving over two steps and securing one of the plain glass cups Hux had bought when he first moved in. He filled it with water from the tap and drank deeply, nearly draining the cup completely before setting it down. Hux was suddenly glad the landlord paid for their water, if that was the rate his new roommate was going to consume it at. Ren left the cup in the sink before heading back down, and Hux moved to take a seat on the couch with the papers he wanted to go over.

They fell into a rhythm. Hux discreetly glanced up every time Ren entered the apartment, taking stock of what he was bringing with him. The next two trips seemed to be mostly more art supplies - a good amount of stretched canvases in various sizes, and clear bins that Hux could tell were full of paint or other more monochrome containers. It appeared that acrylic was Ren’s medium of choice, however Hux could also make out writing on boxes labeled ‘sculpting’ and a tub of adhesive in the mix.

Hux made a mental note to talk to Ren about making sure none of that damaged the floors or walls, considering he wasn’t the one to pay the security deposit on the unit, but said nothing as the taller man finished bringing in his belongings.

Ren had just gone back down after dumping two large cloth bags of what Hux assumed must have been his wardrobe in his room when he heard a metallic bang and muffled cursing coming from outside the window. Standing up and walking towards it he was able to just catch a glimpse of Ren, the hulking, dark figure that he was, bouncing around on one leg, cursing loudly and with creativity that Hux could expect only from an artist or a sailor. A heavy looking mattress hung halfway out of the back of the van Hux had correctly assumed was Ren’s, dropped unceremoniously to the ground when he had inevitably banged his leg trying to worm it out.

Hux couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the sight, continuing to watch as Ren kicked his leg a couple of times to get rid of whatever pain it was in, then kicked the mattress a couple times for good measure before resuming his attempt to pull it out of the van. It was huge, a queen or king size if Hux had to guess, and Ren was continuing to struggle with it. At this rate, it was going to take him all night to lug the unwieldy thing all the way up to the unit alone.

 _I wonder how he got it in there in the first place_ , Hux let himself think as he grabbed his keys, contemplating the idea of Ren actually having friends who would help him move as he walked down the stairs and out into the open air of the evening. _But why wouldn’t they help him move in, too?_

A moment later Hux was outside, standing on the stoop of their building. “Need some help?” he offered, watching as Ren let the mattress go with a grunt, still half in the truck but slightly less than it was before. It bounced comedically on the pavement and Hux couldn’t help but feel a little smug when Ren looked at him, his face making it clear that he didn’t want to admit he needed the help at all. The satisfaction was more than enough to constitute the minor labor it would take to help his new roommate finally get inside so he could be done with the commotion for the night.

“Go on, get in,” Hux instructed as he walked up to Ren and the edge of the mattress, “you push, I pull, we’ll get it out and upstairs quicker.”

“Why am I the one getting in the van?” Ren objected, shooting Hux a glare that made him slightly regret not letting Ren struggle alone.

“Because it’s _your_ mattress, _your_ van, and I’m still in my work clothes. You can get in the van and push or I can leave you here to entertain the neighbors with your solitary effort,” Hux snapped back. He swore he could feel a headache coming on, and he wasn’t sure if it was his missed breakfast, stress about work, arguing with Ren or all of the above that was causing it. Regardless, Ren seemed to take the hint and climbed into the van without more fighting, hunching in a way that made him look even more ridiculously proportioned than he already was.

They managed well enough to get the mattress up the stairs just as the sun began to set. Hux helped Ren push it into his room, taking stock of what he was seeing as he did. The bags of clothes had been thrown haphazardly into the closet, one of them slightly open to reveal a pile of what appeared to be shirts, some of them paint-stained. The easel had been carefully placed in the far corner, the art supplies stacked around it and the portfolio cases propped up with care.

It occurred to Hux as they set the mattress down that there was no bed frame in the room, and the mattress was the last thing that had been left in the van. Ren began unceremoniously kicking the mattress from the center of the room to the corner, and Hux took that moment to leave, retreating into the living room just as his stomach began to growl. Hunger was the source of his headache, apparently.

He was sitting on the couch halfway down the list of delivering restaurants on Seamless when Ren re-entered the room, heading straight for the kitchen. This time instead of looking in the cabinets he opened the fridge, taking in its sparse contents before making a discontented noise and poking his head up over the door.

“Do you not have any actual food?” he asked, moving to open more cabinets, eventually finding the one on the far end of the kitchen that served as a replacement for a proper pantry. Hux kept his non-perishables in it, and rarely opened it. He wasn’t even sure what was in there.

“I have enough to satisfy my needs, thank you very much,” he retorted, defensive of himself despite knowing he needn't be, “You can go shopping on your own time. For now I was about to order out, if you want to join.”

Ren was properly rummaging through Hux’s food supply while he talked, eyes scanning the shelves as if he was calculating something. While Hux watched he took out a package of white rice, a small can of broth and the plastic bag that Hux kept all the leftover soy sauce packets from his Chinese orders in. “Don’t bother,” Ren spoke up finally, “you’ve got enough for me to make something. If you don’t mind me using your food for tonight, that is. I’ll make enough for two.”

“Um, yeah. Sure.” It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and Hux watched Ren curiously as he walked back to the fridge, opening the freezer and letting out a satisfied noise as he procured two packs of frozen vegetables Hux had almost forgotten were there. It wasn’t that Hux was a bad cook, necessarily, it was just that he had a few staple recipes he knew how to make, and was perfectly content to eat them frequently. Past that he was making enough money that constantly ordering out wasn’t unfeasible, and when he got caught up in a case sometimes he wouldn’t even make it home in time to cook.

The noises coming from the kitchen increased as Ren rummaged through the bottom cabinets, pulling out Hux’s rice cooker and the largest pan he owned. From his vantage point on the couch he could see that Ren had managed to find what was probably the only onion in the apartment that was still good and set it with the rest of the food he had forged from the forgotten corners of the kitchen. It occurred to Hux that he was staring, curious despite himself, and he quickly moved to his desk to keep himself from continuing to do so.

He made it halfway through the transcript of his client’s first interrogation before the smell wafting from the kitchen hit him and subsequently threw his concentration out the window. Whatever Ren was making smelled _incredible_ , and his neglected stomach chose that moment to kick into high gear. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, and with a reminder to himself that this was _his_ apartment before it was Ren’s, Hux stood and walked over to where the younger man was stirring something that steamed heavily from the pan.

“What are you making?” Hux asked conversationally, looking down to see the pan filled with the onion and frozen vegetables, all browned and steaming heavily.

Ren peered back over his shoulder, his face smug in a way that said he knew Hux liked what he was smelling even if he wouldn’t say it outright. Hux immediately felt a spark of irritation and regret at having gotten up to look at all, but his stomach was properly growling now, and he blessed the noise of the sautéing food for masking it.

“Stir fry,” Ren answered before going back to shaking the pan, jostling the ingredients that let out another hiss. Hux leaned against the opposite counter, watching him, when Ren spoke up again, his tone light.

“So, did you ask me if I could cook before moving in because you were curious, or because you clearly can’t?”

The glare Hux gave him was rendered useless by the fact that Ren hadn’t turned around, still facing the stove, stirring the food, waiting for a reply. Hux tried to enforce his words with as much irritation as he could muster, just to get his point across. “I’ll have you know I can cook just fine.”

“Your fridge says otherwise,” Ren continued, voice still light, seemingly unfazed by Hux’s change in tone if not enjoying it, “It’s practically barren. I’d say you were just due for a trip to the store, except the only spices you have are salt, pepper and garlic powder. So either you don’t cook, or you’re shit at it.”

Hux’s irritation and headache grew, but he couldn’t tell if it was being caused by Ren accusing him of not being able to cook or the fact that he was begrudgingly right, although Hux would never admit it. Before he could open his mouth to lie and say that he was a fine cook, he just wasn’t high-maintenance, Ren turned the stove off and stepped aside to remove the lid from the rice cooker, releasing a cloud of steam towards the ceiling. Having apparently gotten accustomed to how Hux kept his cabinets organized - _as he should, he’s rummaged around them enough today_ \- Ren pulled two plates down, turning around to extend one to Hux, who was still leaning against the opposite counter, hands crossed in front of him.

Ren looked smug when Hux straightened up and took the plate, to which Hux promptly imagined punching him in the face.

They both shoveled a helping of rice and vegetables onto their plates, Ren heading to sit first, and Hux was about to return to the living room when he heard a very loud and irritated meow. He glanced at the clock to see it was well past when he usually fed Millicent, the events of the day having made it slip his mind. He set his plate down on the counter and grabbed her bowl from the floor, walking to the sink to rinse out the leftovers of the old food.

“What’s its name?”

Hux turned to see Ren sitting on the near end of the couch, holding his hand down with Millicent sniffing tentatively at it. Hux was glad his cat’s apprehension of his new roommate truly was gone, but he felt a pang of jealousy as she allowed Ren to pet her fully, her purring audible even from where Hux was standing in the kitchen.

“Her name is Millicent.”

Ren looked up at him like he had three heads, and Hux felt his ears redden, suddenly defensive. “What?”

“You seriously named your cat ‘ _work_ ’?”

This time it was Hux’s turn to regard Ren with an odd expression. Millicent was an old name, and one whose etymology Hux had always enjoyed, but Ren’s knowledge of it as well was a surprise. “How do you even know that?” he asked, setting Millicent’s now full bowl down and picking up his own plate as she padded over to eat her dinner.

“I did go to school you know,” Ren retorted, waving his hand dismissively, his tone growing darker than it had been in the kitchen. Hux was tempted to ask more, but he knew a defensive deflection when he saw one, and he decided that prying personal information from Kylo Ren was not the hill he currently wanted to die on.

Hux briefly considered where to sit before deciding to take his previous spot at his desk. When Phasma lived there they would simply sit next to each other on the couch, but sitting that close to Ren…it felt like he was tempting a wild animal. He had no reason to be actually afraid of him, Hux knew this, but something about Ren reminded him of a fire left precariously unattended, waiting for the poke that would collapse the wood and bring it roaring dangerously back to life.

Ren seemed content to keep his face in his meal, haphazardly shoveling rice into his mouth, so Hux turned back to his desk, determined to at least make some progress on his work, despite his mind being more scattered than he could recently recall. He absentmindedly brought his fork to his mouth and paused after his first bite.

 _Damnit_. It was _good_.

Spurred on by the sudden realization of exactly how hungry he was, Hux continued to eat, trying to ignore the feeling like he was being watched. He shrugged it off but deliberately took slow bites, not wanting to give Ren the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much he was enjoying the makeshift meal in case that feeling was in fact coming from him. It had never occurred to Hux to make a stir fry, most of the ingredients Ren had pulled had been in his kitchen for ages or leftover from some other recipe he had tried. He lamented the embarrassment of his only soy sauce coming from Chinese restaurant packets, and made a mental note to get proper condiments the next time he found the time to go grocery shopping.

Time passed slowly as Hux ate and read, the only noise in the room coming from the clanking of silverware on plate. After most of his plate was empty his headache subsided and he was content to begin looking over his work again, and had even begun to do so, when Ren spoke up.

“What are you working on?”

The question was a simple one, nothing too invasive. “Interrogation reports,” Hux replied, not looking up from his desk.

“ _Interrogation reports_?” Ren repeated, sounding disbelieving, “You’re a _cop_? With _that_ hair?”

Hux’s headache crept back into the base of his skull. “I’m a _lawyer_ , not a cop.”

“With _that_ hair?”

This time Hux did look up, turning in his chair and putting his arm over the back to give Ren a pointed glare. “At least mine is groomed, yours looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in a week. Do you even own a comb?”

Ren smiled at him then, a grin bright with mischief, as if Hux’s irritation was a game he was starting to enjoy playing. He was seemingly unfazed by Hux’s insult. “I figured you were in some kind of business with the way you dress, but I wouldn’t have pegged you for a lawyer. The hair makes you look like a Brooklyn Hipster, startup office share shit and all.”

“I may live in Brooklyn but hipster is not the word I’d used to describe myself.” Hux’s eyebrow twitched, not particularly keen on broaching this specific topic with Ren after such a long day.

Growing his hair out had been largely a decision made in college, after his first few years when he realized that staying under his father’s shadow was the last thing he actually wanted to do. During his junior year of undergraduate school he was so stressed out that he hadn’t found time to get his hair cut in the month previous to his finals, and when he arrived home for break his father had made no effort to stop voicing his disgust with Hux’s ‘unkempt’ appearance. In return, Hux had made no effort to get his hair cut _after_ his finals, either. By the time his senior year had ended he found that what had started as something to purely spite his father became something he actually somewhat enjoyed, and he kept the look. It was still short enough that when it was pushed behind his ears he could look decently professional, and he actually found that in some cases the longer hair worked in his favor. When his hair was short he tended to look militaristic, stern, unapproachable, but with it long he looked disarming, perfect for getting on the good side of a jury.

Ren shrugged and went back to shoveling rice, and Hux was about to turn back around, figuring the conversation was over, until Ren spoke again with a mouth half full of food. “What word _would_ you use, then?”

The question surprised Hux, taken aback slightly by the genuine interest in Ren’s tone. He mulled over the idea in his head for a while, debating his options. He had been called a number of things in his life, good and bad, but a single word he could use to describe himself was proving elusive to his frazzled mind. Instead he looked at Ren, who was looking at him expectantly, and decided to turn the tables. “I’m not sure,” he answered honestly, “what word would you use to describe _you_?”

This time it was Ren’s turn to pause, and Hux swore he could see a look of minute panic cross his face before it settled back into it’s default expression of mild boredom. Between his dismissive answer earlier and the hesitation to answer now, Hux concluded that Kylo Ren did not enjoy talking about himself, and it only served to peak Hux’s curiosity. Puzzles, and all that. After a short moment Kylo shrugged, shoving his last forkful of food in his mouth before standing abruptly and bringing his plate to the kitchen. “Artistic, probably.”

“That’s a cop out answer,” Hux pointed out.

“Says the guy who didn’t even answer at all,” Kylo quickly retorted.

The answer was quick, and Hux was reminded briefly of his old days in debate team. His favorite opponents were always the ones who could match him one for one. He watched as Kylo placed all of the dirty pots and dishes in the sink and ran the water, beginning to clean them. Hux observed him for a moment longer before turning back to his desk, unable to think of anything else to say and glad at least that Ren was truthful when he said he cleaned the messes he made.They spent the next ten minutes in silence, the only sounds coming from the noises of Ren cleaning up from dinner and Hux flipping pages while he worked.

Eventually Ren finished, shutting the water off and drying his hands on the towel hanging over the front of the sink. Hux didn’t turn, but could hear him walk across the apartment and into his room, shutting the door behind him. A moment later he heard faint music, something with a steady beat and a vocalist he couldn’t quite decipher the gender of. It was then that Hux took a glance at the clock, which stared back at him neatly reading 9:45. With a resigned sigh he stood to bring his own plate to the sink to wash and put on the drying rack. He felt more awake than usual but knew if he started seriously working he would get on a roll and be unable to stop, leaving him exhausted the next day.

Frustration boiled in his stomach that all day he wasn’t able to concentrate enough on his work to make any kind of a breakthrough, but he let it go. It wasn’t Ren’s fault, not entirely. Hux would be dishonest if he didn’t admit that he was tired of hitting road blocks on his client’s case, and Ren provided a welcome, if irritating, distraction.

Conceding defeat for the night, Hux began his nightly rituals. He placed his papers back in his briefcase, as always checking that he had everything he needed for the next day. He pulled out his clothes, making sure they were pressed and ready, cleaned off his desk and checked his e-mail one last time for the night. By the time he was done with all of that, showered, and ready for the day to finally be over, the clock told him it was around half past ten and he could still hear the music coming from Ren’s room.

The walls in the apartment were thin, and Hux knew he wouldn’t sleep unless Ren either turned his music down or off entirely. He was hoping to simply slip into bed, but he knew himself, and Hux would rather solve the problem before it became one than lie awake for an hour avoiding his roommate like a child.

Standing up a bit straighter in front of Ren’s room he gave the door three swift knocks, and listened to heavy footsteps padding across the room before Ren swung open the door.

He was in different clothes than he had worn that day, his shirt appearing to have originally been blue, the color almost indecipherable from the seeming years worth of old paint stains. His lounge pants, shorts in no better shape than his shirt, hung loose around his hips, and Hux had to use all of his courtroom poker face training to hide how he noticed, very specifically, the thin strip of toned skin that could be seen between his pants and shirt.

He locked eyes with Ren, standing his ground, against what he wasn’t quite sure. The music was more clear now that the door was open, a song much softer than Hux would have anticipated him enjoying based on the shirt he had been in earlier. Ren had struck Hux as the angry metal type, but this song was slow, two vocalists laid over one another, a synthetic keyboard beat thrumming through it. Ren was staring at him, expectantly.

“I’ve got work in the morning, I’d appreciate it if you put headphones in so I could sleep.” Hux requested, continuing to maintain eye contact despite the fact that Ren was staring at Hux like he was a puzzle piece that wasn’t quite fitting in the spot he thought it should.

It unnerved him for a moment, remembering with how much force he hit those pieces as a kid.

But then Ren seemed to find whatever he was searching for in Hux’s face because he smiled and let out a barking laugh, stepping back into the room just enough for Hux to see that he had thrown sheets haphazardly on his mattress, which was now shoved in the corner of the room, and strewn art supplies over the floor. Before he could see any more Ren stepped back into the frame, encompassing all of it, and smiled down at him. “Sure thing, Matchstick. No problem. Goodnight.”

Ren shut the door, the ghost of his laugh still echoing through Hux’s ears, which immediately began to burn in response to the new nickname. He felt like Ren knew something he didn’t, saw something on his face that Hux was unaware of, and he wanted to know what it was, but a moment later the music stopped. It was replaced by the now-audible shuffling of Ren, moving himself and his things around the room, and Hux reminded himself for the second time that night that trying to figure out Kylo fucking Ren was _not_ the hill he wanted to die on.

He turned and entered his own room, Millicent meowing in greeting as he shut the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first scene in this chapter was one I thought of when I first debated writing this AU, so i'm glad it's here! The big bang is coming but I wanted to make sure you all got a chapter before I descend into hell. As always, dedicated to the amazing [bona--mana](http://bona--mana.tumblr.com) and my beta [vmprsm](http://vmprsm.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Ive made [a playlist](http://fraxinus.tumblr.com/post/142817981852/my-wave-my-shark-my-demon-in-the-dark-the-blue) for this fic, on it are songs to go along with the fic but any songs I describe Ren playing are somewhere in there, see if you can guess which ones! There's also now [a pretty aesthetic post](http://fraxinus.tumblr.com/post/141932114197/blue-tide-pulling-me-under-after-his-roommate) to share and reblog.

Hux walked quickly, his gaze set forward, the click of his shoes on the sharp tile lost in the noise of the crowd he was weaving through. With his briefcase tight to his side he moved with practiced ease, navigating between large groups of people, around couples linked by the arms, and worst of all past tourists who didn’t seem to realize that they were in New York City and when in New York City it was proper etiquette to fucking _move_.

Union Square was buzzing with activity since the cold weather had begun to subside, and the subway station underneath it was no different. Hux was hastily trying to make his transfer, attempting to avoid spending an extra ten minutes twiddling his thumbs on the cell phone signal-barren platform of the R train. He shoved past a man who veered into his path while staring at his watch, paying no mind to the rude remark made in the wake of his rather heated shove.

The day had not been going well. The first thing on his agenda had been a meeting with the district attorney, which had gone worse than Hux had expected, which was saying something considering Hux had expected it to be a massacre to begin with. The attorney had managed to pull two more character witnesses while Hux had been grasping at the straws of his defense, and he left the meeting feeling more frustrated than he had in recent memory.

Well, almost more frustrated than recent memory, considering his last two weeks had been marred by the apparent child that had taken up residence in his apartment.

Ren was, in every way, a perfect irritation. It was as if the universe itself had crafted someone with just the right amount of edges to get right underneath his skin, poke at every one of his soft spots, and act on every one of his annoyances. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world all put together, if it wasn’t for how damn _subtle_ it all was.

Their pattern had fallen into place quickly after Ren moved in. Hux was always up before Ren, blessedly leaving his established morning routine unchanged. Arriving at home after work was a daily toss-up on weather the apartment was occupied or not. Some nights would be quiet, Hux having his dinner and working with Millicent in his lap until Kylo trudged in with his easel and portfolio case, heading straight into his room with a sour look gracing his features. Other nights Hux arrived home to find Kylo sprawled on the couch, almost too tall to fit, one long leg hanging off the side and his curiously expensive laptop balanced on his stomach. How he could afford such a top-of-the-line device when Hux wasn’t even sure where he worked was beyond him, but when he tried to inquire Ren was, as always, evasive.

It was the evasiveness that bothered him the most. Hux had continued his attempts at getting to know his new roommate, but even asking things as simple as where he had moved from got him run-around answers that always somehow led back to Hux answering the question he had just asked. Two days of that process quickly killed his motivation to try, but Ren’s lack of context continued to bother him, especially now that he knew things about Hux that he hadn’t necessarily intended to share. Still, Ren’s seemingly ( _infuriatingly_ ) genuine curiosity always seemed to get the better of him. It wasn’t like he was eager to open up to someone who took an hour just to have their age pried from them.

He was 26, as it turned out. Three years younger than Hux. His birthday was in July.

After Hux had given up on conversation, their time together fell into pattern with the rest of their lives. On the nights where Ren was home he would cook, having stocked Hux’s neglected refrigerator with more fresh produce than it had seen in years, but he no longer offered Hux any. It did not go unnoticed by Hux that Kylo’s meals were getting progressively more fragrant as the weeks progressed, but every night he fed himself or ordered in, refusing to ask to be cooked for like a child. Past that was relative silence, Hux hunched over his desk working, Ren on the couch loafing. It was those moments where Hux thought he could feel eyes on the back of his head, watching him. He tried to ignore the sensation, passing it off as stress due to his case, but eventually it was too hard to shake and he had relented. When he turned around Ren’s eyes had been on his laptop, but a small smirk graced his lips, and resentment had bubbled in Hux’s gut. Seeing that all but convinced him that Ren _had_ been staring, and the thought of Ren _knowing_ Hux could tell and _knowing_ he hadn’t been caught doing it caused Hux to glare, hoping Ren could feel the daggers like Hux could feel his damnable eyes. He refused to turn again, after that.

On top of everything Ren had even given Hux a _nickname_ , one he hated just as much as the one Phasma had assigned to him, and once again, it was a comment on his hair. He could hear him now, casual as Hux walked in the door from work.

_‘Hey, Matchstick.’_

Ugh.

It was small things like that which bothered him the most. He was used to passive aggression, growing up in the Hux household essentially made him an expert in the matter, but what Ren was doing wasn’t aggressive, and as far as Hux could tell it wasn’t malicious either. The amusement on Ren’s face that refused to leave anytime he was home was a testament to exactly one thing.

Kylo Ren was fucking with him.

It was this, on top of his absolutely shitty day, that propelled Hux at top walking speed towards his destination. It had been a while since he had stayed at the office longer than his requisite 8 hours, preferring to work at home at night, but the temptation to burn the midnight oil in Manhattan instead of treading home grew every time he felt that god damn smirk from his roommates face.

Finally breaking through the main crowd to the section of the subway station that housed his train Hux slowed slightly, taking a deep breath. He reminded himself that his rage, when not channeled properly, was unbecoming and counter productive. He counted each step, an old trick from grade school, and breathed in time with every three steps, both slowing his heart rate and his pace to more acceptable levels. No, Kylo Ren, annoying as he was, would not get to him. No one did, anymore. 

Not when he had work to do.

As he approached the stairs leading down to his platform he took in his surroundings. The small section dedicated to the R train had a couple of areas convenient for performers and vendors. On any given day there would be a musician both on the platform as well as on the level above it, right under the tile fixture with the name of the station, and if it wasn’t a musician it was someone peddling their wares. Most people sold art above ground in the square, however a few would head down to the subways, generally with different versions of the same idea. Artistic renderings of the New York City subway map, art drawn _over_ the New York City subway map, graffiti style designs of relevant sports teams on the New York City subway map: it became routine to see the same concept rehashed by different people to target tourists and their stands tended to blend into the background for someone as used to seeing them as Hux.

Today, however, he took pause. As he approached the stairs he could begin to see that an artist had set up against the railings leading down to the Queens-bound track, not unusual, but the art on display certainly was. Hux originally thought that perhaps his distance made them seem like nonsense, but upon getting closer he saw that they weren’t nonsense at all. They were abstract. There were a number of small pieces propped up against the railing and displayed on the ground, each a bit bigger than a piece of printer paper, but there were larger ones as well, the one drawing Hux’s eye propped up on a wire frame and displayed to the left, the first to be seen when entering the area.

It was a monochrome piece, utilizing only black, white and a number of grays, but to great effect. The sightline flowed smoothly, each angry stroke of the larger black brush answered by one of subtle grace from the smaller white. It reminded Hux vaguely of a dance, or a battle, two partners countering each other at every turn. The gray tones ran interspersed through the piece, serving as companions to the central movement, highlighting the moments where black and white connected in a stark contrast that felt almost akin to coming to blows. The darker grays surrounded the lighter, like a shadow pushing, pushing, but never quite being able to snuff it’s opponent out. Upon closer inspection Hux could see that the brush strokes were large, the paint raised from the canvas in a way that conveyed not only the emotion of the piece, but the emotion of the artist as it was made.

He didn’t consider himself an art critic by any means, there were a few pieces in his childhood home and he had only attended a gallery once or twice, but Hux could appreciate that what he was looking at was _good_. Far better than anything he should be finding in a subway station, he concluded. He took another moment to observe the piece before he looked up and his eyes landed on the artist, who was turned away and speaking to someone who appeared to have purchased one of the smaller canvases. They were standing just far enough that Hux couldn’t make out their conversation over the noise of the subway aside from a few hand gestures and nods. The artist was wearing a beanie that only showed a small base of black hair that was pulled up into it, and he had a broad back, accentuated by his arms being currently crossed in front of him. His shirt was splattered with paint, as expected, but as Hux waited for him to finish he began to notice the paint looking incredibly…familiar. Unsettlingly familiar. A sinking feeling began to form in the pit of his stomach as the other customer walked away, allowing the artist to finally turn around.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Ren’s face lit up in a smile.

“Hey, Matchstick!”

 _I could walk away_ , Hux told himself. _I could walk away right now. I could march right past him, down the stairs, get on the R train and sleep in my office until tomorrow. Until next week. Until the lease is up-_

“Like anything you see?” Ren threw him a grin, amusement all over his face. Hux schooled any remaining surprise from his features, knowing it was his shock that was giving Ren satisfaction. He took a step away from the display, more specifically away from the piece he had just been admiring. He was suddenly glad for the previous patron taking Ren’s attention, he could only imagine what kind of shit-eating grin would plaster his roommate’s face if he had been given the satisfaction of seeing Hux’s rapturous gaze at his art.

Hux was determined not to give him that satisfaction. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, giving Ren a disapproving look. “Is this seriously what you do when you leave all day? Sell art in a _subway station_?”

Ren’s grin didn’t falter in the least. If anything it grew, as did the itch in Hux’s fist that wouldn’t quite go away. He had gotten into few physical fights when he was younger but he had also never met someone so punchable before. It was a feat, really. An achievement worthy of a trophy. Perhaps a golden one, about the size of a baseball bat, proportioned just right-

Ren shrugged and it brought Hux out of his train of thought. “Sometimes. I don’t sell on the street incredibly often, just when I need the cash.”

Hux cocked an eyebrow. “Selling paintings on the street actually got you all the cash you handed me last week, really?”

Hux noticed the left corner of Ren’s mouth twitch, just faintly. It was the same as he’d seen the first night they lived together, a brief glimpse of emotion, a crack hastily mended, but there nonetheless and gone more quickly than it had come, but the smile that replaced it wasn’t quite as amused as it was before.

“It gets me enough,” Ren answered, reaching down to straighten a piece that had shifted slightly out of place. “Speaking of jobs, isn’t yours downtown? What are you even doing up here?”

The typical Ren turn around. Hux fought the urge to roll his eyes, instead adjusting his weight onto his left foot, crossing his arms as he checked his watch. It was almost time for his train to arrive. “I had a meeting in Midtown,” he stated simply, not willing to go back over the details of how every-increasingly screwed he was looking to be.

“Since you look like someone pissed in your cereal this morning, and I know it wasn’t me, I’m guessing it didn’t go well.”

“I don’t even eat cereal, and no, it didn’t, if you must know.”

After he straightened out his canvases Ren leaned against the railing himself, crossing his arms and giving Hux a once-over. Hux refused to fidget under his gaze, even when it lingered more than it properly should have. When his eyes landed on Hux’s again they look genuinely sympathetic, and it made Hux’s hard expression soften a bit. “Sorry to hear that, Matchstick. If I thought I could offer any help I would, but-” he gestured at his display, “-I think we have very different skill sets.”

It was how damn genuine he sounded that made Hux relent, uncrossing his arms and running a hand back through his hair, an old habit. He looked away as he spoke. “Yes, well. At this point I’m not sure having a law degree puts me in any _better_ of a position.”

Ren looked at him like he was considering something, then pushed himself off the railing. “I tell you what,” he started, voice low, and when Hux looked up he saw a grin back on his face, still soft but with a twinkle in his eye that Hux had already learned to dread, “I was going to make dinner tonight. If you want, I can pick up extra ingredients on my way home, make enough for two.”

Hux’s first instinct was to be a little touched, but he thought better and searched Ren’s face for the trick, knowing it was there. He hazarded a guess. “But?”

“ _But_ , Mr. Attorney,” Ren’s grin grew wider as he stepped forward, suddenly in Hux’s personal space more than he had intended for this interaction. Ren gestured to his display with a quick nod of his head. “ _You_ have to buy that piece.”

Hux looked unamused. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Is that a no?”

“That’s me telling you to go fuck yourself.”

“I’m still not hearing a no.”

In that moment the sound of screeching filled the air as Hux felt a small familiar rumble under his feet, coming from the track connected to the far set of stairs. He cursed under his breath and hastily looked at his watch before sidestepping Ren, appreciating the room to breath normally again when he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Suit yourself! They’ll be in collections someday!” Ren called after him as he bolted the few steps to the opposite stairwell, looking down to see his train pulling into the station.

“Go to hell, Ren!” he called back as he descended, and he swore he could hear Ren’s laugh even as the doors of the train shut behind him.

—-

“Seriously? In _Union_?”

Phasma’s face looked more amused than Hux appreciated, he could still see it despite her being nothing more than a slightly lagged video on his laptop. “Yes, in Union, right on top of the R. Wearing a fucking _beanie_ , of all things.” Phasma snorted involuntarily and Hux groaned. “Sure, laugh it up, you aren’t living with him.”

“Sounds like Craigslist did you about as well as I expected.” She sounded smug, even through his speakers. Hux knew Phasma’s tones better than his own family’s, and he knew when she was smug.

“I’m still not going to say you were right, he hasn’t killed me yet.” He paused, contemplative for a moment. “I think he’s fucking with me though.”

“Fucking with you?” The amused tone left Phasma’s voice, replaced by one of slight concern and, if he had heard correctly, a faint undertone of protectiveness.

Hux put his hands up in a reassuring gesture, smiling despite himself as the thought of Phasma coming back to New York just to kick Kylo Ren in the teeth, even if he _was_ perfectly capable of handling himself. The sentiment still warmed him. “Nothing serious, don’t worry. It’s just little things. They’re not exactly passive aggressive but they’re _annoying_ as hell.”

This time Phasma looked curious. “What exactly is he doing?”

Hux ran a hand through his hair, glad to be home and have the ability to do so without worrying about how he looked. Earlier in the day he had to take a minute in the bathroom before walking back into his office to straighten out the mess it had become after he saw Ren in the subway station and couldn’t help his anxious habit. “Like I said, little things. Leaving things half-done, running my words around, and I swear he _stares_ at me when I’m not looking.”

Phasma was silent on the other end of the line except for a small hum, almost inaudible had Hux not spent the better part of two years with her almost constantly. He knew it meant she was thinking and stared directly into the camera instead of at his screen. “Out with it.”

“Maybe he likes you.”

Hux’s eyebrows scrunched together. “ _Likes_ me? So, what, he messes with me like a grade schooler?”

“Who knows.” She shrugged, like what she had just suggested wasn’t absolutely ludicrous. “If he’s not a good socializer maybe he doesn’t know how to show interest. Maybe he’s trying to get your attention.”

Hux considered it for a moment, but shook his head. “I doubt it. Every time I ask him about himself he turns it around, and isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when you like someone? Share… _things_ about yourself? The only time he seemed to open up was when I asked about his art, and even then, he was shifty.” He remembered how Ren’s demeanor changed when Hux asked about the money he paid for rent. Now that he knew what the other man did for a living he was starting to genuinely wonder where Ren had gotten the money from, but he doubted he could pry out that answer any time soon.

Phasma made a dismissive gesture. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you then.” She paused. “Is he cute at least?”

Hux felt his ears get red at the question, thinking back on when Ren had gotten in his personal space earlier in the day and glad for his PC’s horrible camera quality so it wasn’t noticed. He hadn’t really given it too much thought, but now that it had been asked and he was considering it, he had to admit that Ren was...attractive. Unconventionally, for sure, but attractive nonetheless. His face was young but open, his grin lopsided but charming, not detracting. It was rare to find someone taller than Hux, but Ren managed it by a few inches, and he would have to be blind not to notice the tone of his arms and his broad torso. The dusting of moles on his face and neck also lent themselves to his awkward but charming appearance, and Hux had to break his train of thought before he began to wonder if those beauty marks continued past the neck of his paint stained shirts. The temptation to lie was present, but he reminded himself it was unnecessary, so when Hux answered he answered (mostly) truthfully. “He’s not _bad_ looking, I suppose.”

“Hm.” Phasma seemed unconvinced. “You need to get a picture and text me so I can sleuth that out for sure. I don’t trust your judgement when it comes to any kind of romanticism or relationships, no offense.”

“None taken, we both remember Higgins.”

Phasma mimed taking off an invisible hat, holding it to solemnly her chest as she bowed her head. “Higgins.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Your relationship history is a graveyard Hux, I’m just paying my respects.”

Hux rolled his eyes and leaned back, hitting the back of his desk chair with an audible thud. “Why did I even call you to talk about this?”

“Because you don’t know how to reasonably coexist with the rest of humanity unless you’re yelling at them in a courtroom, thus leading you to have only one friend? Which is me?”

Hux shot her an undignified look. “I have _friends_.”

“Name _one_.”

Hux opened his mouth to speak.

“Don’t say Mitaka, you accepted his offer for after-work drinks _once_ , and then left after half an hour.”

Hux’s mouth closed, making Phasma laugh, which in turn made Hux do the same despite himself. After everything the previous weeks had thrown at him, it relaxed Hux to talk to her again. He had missed her more than he expected, it was difficult without her around.

“Alright, enough about Ren. How are things for you in Georgia?”

This time it was Phasma’s turn to roll her eyes. “I had forgotten the south boycotted fall, winter and spring years ago in exchange for near-constant humidity, so when I got off the plane I thought I was going to drown on dry land.”

“I’m going to professionally advise you not to do that,” he smiled at her, the coin of annoyance flipped, “that’s just my thoughts though.”

Phasma made an exasperated noise and crossed her arms. “Your legal council is noted. Besides, if anything’s going to kill me out here it’ll be the animals, not the heat. I swear to god there’s _something_ off the trail I run the recruits through every morning, and if _it_ doesn’t get me then dealing with a couple of these recruits will.”

“I’m assuming they’ve given you the troublemakers to start with?” Phasma was a good leader and got her position based on that record, it wouldn’t surprise Hux if they assigned her some of the more troublesome students to even out.

“Only a few who make it obvious the military wasn’t their first choice. The rest are pretty much good kids. There’s one, Unamo, who I think will go far. It’s nice to see-“ Phasma cut off, a man’s voice echoing through Hux’s speakers as she looks offscreen. She responded with a much more formal tone to her voice than the previous moment. “Right, sorry sir. I’ll be right there.”

Hux tried to push down his twinge of disappointment. “Duty calls?”

She smiled apologetically, looking at her camera instead of the screen for emphasis. “Sorry Carrot-Top, but I gotta run. Keep me updated though, and,” her tone turned stern, “ _I want that picture by 22:00_.”

Hux waved dismissively with one hand. “ _Yes sir_ , I’ll get on that task right away.” His voice softened then, his tone genuine. “I’ll talk to you later Phasma, stay safe and don’t get eaten.”

She laughed. “Yeah, you either.”

Hux watched as the image of Phasma moved her arm closer to the camera, and then the screen she had occupied minimized, leaving his desktop open to the documents and numerous tabs he always kept running to come back to at a moment’s notice.

The silence of the room settled on him, and Hux allowed himself to briefly entertain the idea of how his life would be going if she hadn’t left. If he had met Kylo Ren some other, more usual way. Would she have coached Hux through talking with him, if they saw him across a bar? Would they have even noticed him?

Would Hux have spoken to him at all?

In the end he determined his train of thought was bringing him nowhere productive so he closed his laptop, standing from the desk. It was almost 8 and Ren still wasn’t home. Hux supposed he was glad to have some context for where Ren went when he was out, his sour moods retroactively explained by a lack of sales in whatever corner of Manhattan he decided to set up in that day. Hux’s mind again wandered to the envelope of money in his bedside drawer, now slightly lighter with a month’s rent paid, but still significant. Could selling his art on the street really bring Ren in all of that cash? Hux had to begrudgingly admit that Ren’s work was good, and it was true that he hadn’t had the time to ask how much they were actually selling for, but he couldn’t imagine anyone dropping hundreds of dollars on art they found in a subway station, talented artist or no.

Hux mulled the new information he had collected that day over in his head while he went about his nightly routine. Eventually the rumbling in his stomach couldn’t be ignored and he made himself a simple bowl of pasta, sitting on the couch in silence while he considered exactly what he knew so far about Kylo Ren. He listed the facts in his head as he would any case he was trying to puzzle out, and the first step was to examine all the evidence.

Exhibit A: Ren had no steady job to speak of, yet was somehow making enough money to both pay his bills and lay out over five thousand dollars in one day. 

Exhibit B: He clearly had skill, so much so that Hux imagined formal art schooling was probably involved somewhere in his past, but clearly not enough to make lowering himself to subway art an unappealing concept.

Exhibit C: The few things he owned were of quality. His computer and portfolio cases were dinged and heavily mistreated, but otherwise expensive. Art supplies also did not come cheap.

Exhibit D: He was 26. His birthday was in July. Dismissed for irrelevance.

Exhibit E: No further evidence to submit, because Kylo Ren was _very good_ at not showing his cards. Which, in itself, was still evidence to something. Hux just didn’t know what.

Having finished his dinner Hux moved to the kitchen, continuing to think while Millicent weaved between his legs. He had just begun to wash his dishes when he heard keys enter the lock on the door. A quick glance at the clock showed that it was now a little before 9, the latest Ren had ever come home, and Hux caught himself hoping that was a good sign for Ren’s sales before he squashed the feeling. He reminded himself that how Ren fared in that dingy subway stop was none of his concern, nor any of his business. Regardless, it seemed his brief wish was not granted, because Ren walked in with his usual scowl, poised to head straight to his room before stopping when he saw Hux washing a pot.

“You cooked?” he asked, his scowl softening into a more neutral expression. If Hux didn’t know any better, he would swear Ren almost looked a little disappointed.

“I told you I know how,” he retorted, letting the annoyance in his tone show. He gestured down to the seemingly full portfolio case Ren had tucked under his arm, along with a plastic bag that Hux couldn’t make out the contents of. “I’m guessing today wasn’t a success? No big art collectors taking the R?”

The softness in Ren’s expression evaporated as quickly as it had come, replaced once again by a scowl before he turned and continued his stomp towards his room. Hux felt bad for a moment, remembering the consideration Ren had shown him earlier, but shrugged and returned to his dishes, first having to put away the things Ren had left in the drainer before moving forward. Hux did his best to bite down the irritation he felt at once again doing that particular task.

Ren always took care to clean the messes he made, just as he said, washing and putting his things in the drainer, but never once did he come back to put them away once they were dry. Every time Hux went to do his own, he would notice them, clean and waiting, but never touched. It was another small thing, something so small that Hux wasn’t willing to correct him and look petty over, but the more it happened the harder it became, especially now that he was beginning to think Ren was doing it on purpose.

Halfway through his dishes Ren started playing music in his room again, this time something with a guitar with string reverberation that was audible even in the recording and a male singer whose voice pierced the song so prominently Hux could hear him in the living room as if he was giving a private performance. The tune wasn’t unpleasant by any means, but by the time Hux had finished and was ready to look over his work before bed he was tired of hearing it.

He crossed the living room and knocked on Ren’s door, standing there as he heard a grunt, some mild shuffling and finally heavy footsteps coming to the door. When it opened Ren stood as he usually did, right in the frame, staring down. Hux wasn’t nearly as put off as he was the first time around.

“I've got work to do, please turn that down.”

There was none of the careful consideration of the first night in his eyes, no soul-piercing gaze that left Hux feeling bare, but the smirk still on Ren’s face was now unsettling for an entirely different reason. “Sure thing,” he replied, short, and promptly closed the door in Hux’s face.

The abruptness of the door was a surprise, but it only took a beat for Hux to collect himself, letting out a huff as he moved to his desk. He had just finished digging out everything he needed from his briefcase when he heard the music volume begin to turn down. It went down in notches, probably played from Ren’s computer, the singer slowly fading from the living room and leaving peace in it’s wake.

Or it would, if not for the faint echo that could still be heard, resonating lightly through the room. Hux waited for the music to be turned down just one more notch, one more was all it needed to be gone, but it never did. The volume remained exactly where it was. Low enough to have been clearly turned down as requested, but just above what would be satisfactory.

 _Just_ enough to make Hux look like an ass if he asked again.

The realization made Hux slam his hands on the desk, standing up with such force that his chair violently screeched against the hardwood floors, startling Millicent who promptly ran under the couch. If Hux hadn’t been sure about Ren doing things to bother him on purpose before, he was now. Previous slights could have been dismissed as laziness, or Hux’s own stress, but between Ren’s smirk and the careful modular tone-down of his music to just-over-acceptable levels now he _knew_ it was purposeful. He marched straight to Ren’s door and opened it without knocking, because this was _his_ home and he had now had _quite enough of this_. It was time to make some things clear.

“You’re goading me,” was the first thing out of Hux’s mouth when he entered the room. It wasn’t a question. He stood a few feet away from Ren, arms crossed and expression stern as he looked down. Hux didn’t even make an attempt to remember his breathing. Ren was sitting on the floor, cross-legged in front of a half-full canvas and surrounded by various brushes and bottles of paint, a mixing board absolutely coated in it to the side. 

The younger man looked up, his face masked to indifference, but the crinkle of his eyes giving away his amusement despite how innocent he attempted to look. It only served to stoke the fire in Hux’s head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, you’re a shit liar. You’re goading me. I want to know why.”

The indifference fell away as Ren gave in, his damnable lopsided grin back in it’s proper place. He stood then, bracing his hand on the floor to help push himself up. There was a small black smudge left on the hardwood when he lifted his hand again and Hux sneered, noticing a number of spots of the same nature in other places of the floor, as well as a few on the wall. He was about to look up and mention _his_ security deposit when suddenly Ren was in front of him, once again in his space and much closer than Hux was comfortable with. There was something new in his face as well, something wicked mixed along with the amusement. “Maybe I wanted to see what you would do.”

The answer was enough to snap Hux out of the fuzz threatening to take hold of his mind at the close proximity. “You wanted to-“ he shook his head, taking a step back to regain his space, disbelieving the ridiculous answer, “you wanted to see what I would _do_?”

Ren had the gall to smile, almost like he was charmed, and Hux bit down the urge to punch him right in his handsome face, which was immediately followed by a sinking feeling in his stomach at realizing he had just thought of Ren’s face as _handsome_ , and oh, he was going to have _words_ with Phasma the next time they talked for putting insane thoughts into his head, no matter how close he was-

“You heard me. I wanted to see what you would _do_ Matchstick, if you’d say anything or ignore it.”

Ren’s grin got wider as he matched Hux’s step back with his own half-step forward, as if sensing Hux’s discomfort but not caring quite enough to respect it in full. It was the partial, half-done consideration that finally sent Hux’s blood into a full boil, stepping forward to crowd Ren’s space as the other man’s eyes widened at the sudden change in demeanor. “Well, now you have your answer. Your small slights have _not_ gone unnoticed, I _don’t_ appreciate them, and if you have any interest in the continued peace in this apartment you will _stop_ them.”

Hux was properly fuming now, digging his nails painfully into his palms as he tried to regain control of himself and waited for Ren’s response. It had been years since he had let someone get under his skin to the point of actual anger, but he was not about to back down. Ren seemed surprised enough by the revelation of Hux’s temper, and he gained satisfaction from seemingly having the upper hand. That was, until Ren leaned forward, the look on his face now intense, eyes bright and excited. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, almost breathless. “And if I don’t?”

That was once again not the answer Hux expected. This time it threw him, confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“And if. I _don’t_.” Ren spoke slowly, his voice still low. “Have an interest in peace, that is.” He tilted his head to the side and slightly down, his proximity making Hux suddenly and very deeply regret having played into their back-and-forth tango of steps. They were almost toe to toe, and the way Ren’s eyes studied his face, nothing like the first night, this time mischievous, calculating, _hungry_ , sent a shiver of something Hux hadn’t experienced in years up his spine. He was painfully aware of the building heat in his ears and hoped his hair was hiding enough that the color wouldn’t be noticed. Ren was still smiling, like he was enjoying the entire exchange, like he was having fun toying with him. Phasma’s words from earlier that day rang through Hux’s mind.

_Don’t get eaten._

Hux considered his options as much as he could when he swore he could feel Ren’s breath ghosting over his nose. He could run, go back to his desk pretend this never happened, but Hux was not a man who ran. Instead he straightened himself up, meeting Ren’s eyes with a fierceness that caused the other man to pause, his smile wavering slightly and his eyes losing their glint. _Good_.

“Then if you don’t have an interest in peace, I don’t have any interest in _you_. I don’t have the time, nor the patience, to deal with this. If you insist on acting like a child with a secret, that’s your business, but keep me and my work out of it. Peace is what I will have in this apartment, or you can take what’s left of your money and find _different accommodations_.”

The smile on Ren’s face fell completely then, replaced by something almost akin to hurt, but Hux had already backed away a step and turned on his heel, making a hasty exit out of the room. For once no laughter followed behind him. He went straight to his desk, stacking his papers and throwing them in his briefcase before bringing it all into his room. Millicent followed closely behind, slipping in right before Hux closed the door and watching as he sat on the foot of his bed, clutching his briefcase with white knuckles and working very hard to stop the undignified shaking his body was trying to get away with.

From adrenaline or something he didn’t want to acknowledge, Hux didn’t know. Didn’t _want_ to know. He instead focused on his breathing.

In, one, two, three, four. Out.

Finally, when he calmed down and could once again think straight without the image of Ren, impossibly close and breath warm on his face, popping into his mind, he set about the work of organizing his hastily stacked papers. For the rest of the night Hux stayed in his room, opting to go over what information he could while in bed. It wasn’t the most ideal way to work, but it helped relax him, something sorely needed. Ren’s music had been lowered a minute after Hux stormed out of his room, and he blessedly couldn’t make any of it out through both of their bedroom doors. 

After a bit of time he received a text from Phasma inquiring about the demanded photo, to which he replied with a picture of a rude hand gesture, knowing she wouldn’t be too offended but wanting very specifically to not think about the man in his other bedroom. Blessedly Ren was still in his room when Hux entered the bathroom to brush his teeth, ignoring the mess on the other side of the counter. Ren’s toothbrush looked like it had seen better days and Hux wondered if it even served it’s original purpose anymore, scoffing to himself at the ridiculousness of the thought.

Twenty minutes later, once he had set out his things for the morning and as he was finally turning off his light to go to bed, Hux could faintly hear Ren moving in the kitchen. Hux rolled his eyes at the immaturity of making a meal at almost 11 at night, like a college student, but didn’t think too much on it. Ren had no schedule, it wasn’t Hux’s job to police when he ate. The noise eventually settled down, and Hux slept soundly through the night.

In the morning when he opened the refrigerator to grab a drink he paused, noticing a tupperware container that had not been there before, and turned to see pairs of identical cans in the recycling.

Ren had made enough for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for visual reference, the area of the union square subway stop kylo sets up in [looks like this](http://fraxinus.tumblr.com/post/142880482832/for-visual-reference-this-is-the-part-of-the) complete with artist set up in his spot  
> There were two casual references to some of my favorite kylux fics/authors in here, Higgins is from [reserve's fic New Rules](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6138949) and the nod to something in the Georgian woods is for [ocktorok and Southern Comfort](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5777599/chapters/13315243) because they're both beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, for [bona--mana](http://bona--mana.tumblr.com/). Thanks to [vmpsrm](http://vmprsm.tumblr.com/) for going through and re-betaing the fic so far. And thank you, if you're still around.

The two weeks that followed Hux and Ren’s confrontation (he refused to call it a fight, as the term implied much more emotional depth than the simple scolding he had given his roommate entailed) Hux had gotten more work done than he had in the previous month. He made a point to attribute it to regaining the drive he had lost with the slump in his case, his late nights at the office simply the result of gaining steam on getting his client acquitted. For the past four nights he had stayed at his desk late enough to warrant eating his dinner in Manhattan at the various small restaurants that littered the blocks around his office building. In Hux’s mind, if the subway hadn’t started it’s late-night service yet, it was still a reasonable time to be out. He was young after all, he didn’t need to go home and be in bed early like a man in his fifties. New York was teeming with unique places to eat, and Hux was just finally learning to embrace the culture.

There was absolutely, _definitely_ no part of him that was avoiding his apartment.

Even if there _was_ , it wouldn’t even be because Ren was being a nuisance. In reality, it was ( _would be_ ) the opposite. Since their fight ( _confrontation_ ) Ren had kept almost completely to himself. In the few instances where he was home and awake when Hux returned from work he stayed silent on the couch, scrolling through his laptop, or immediately moved into his room, presumably to work. His music never went above an acceptable level, his dishes were always put away, and the scent of aromatic food no longer wafted under Hux’s nose at night.

The situation would be ideal, had the extra meal Ren made that night not stuck so prominently in Hux’s head, the picture of the lone tupperware container in the fridge constantly coming back to him just when he allowed himself to get comfortable with their new arrangement.

Ren had offered to make him food while they were speaking that morning, yes, but only on the condition Hux buy the piece he had been eyeing before he realized it’s artist. Hux had stormed off to catch his train, so why had Ren still cooked the extra? Was that why he had seemed so disappointed that Hux had cooked for himself when he arrived home that night, because he had actually planned to cook for him? It was the uncertain guilt that kept eating away at Hux’s gut every time he thought about it. The guilt, and the sudden absence of the presence Ren had made of himself in his daily routine.

Hux would probably have felt a little less remorseful if Ren wasn’t still sulking around like a kicked animal. The dramatic shift in behavior made Hux think that maybe Phasma _was_ right, maybe Ren just didn’t know how to maintain or create relationships like a normal human being, and everything he had been doing was just how he tried to make friends.

That theory might have stuck, had Hux not also remembered the downright predatory look Ren had given him the moment before Hux told him off. 

_“And if I_ don’t _?”_

Ren had been so close, the mere inches of difference in their height had suddenly felt massive, and Hux was having a hard time convincing himself that the heat he had felt rolling off of Ren was just a figment of his imagination. Just the thought of it all sent an involuntary shiver down his spine as he waited for his train to arrive. 

It was early, earlier than he usually went home, even by his pre-Ren standards. Mitaka had all but ordered him out of the office an hour previous, citing it being a Friday and that Hux had already put in well over 40 hours for the week while he politely shooed him to the elevators. While he had relented, Hux had still been tempted to stay in Manhattan and find someplace else to work like a cafe or other public space. The exhaustion slowly creeping into his bones made him for once take Mitaka’s advice to heart, however, and he instead walked to the subway station. He had made good progress that week, he rationalized, he could afford to take a half-day off, deserved it even. Perhaps he would do some pleasure reading, or get dinner at his favorite pub down the street from his apartment before curling up with Millicent for the night.

The proposition of relaxing had put Hux in a solidly pleasant mood by the time he stepped off the train at his stop, keys already dangling from his fingers. The weather was pleasant, for once he felt satisfied with his work, and the thought of the comfort he had sorely missed in the last week left him almost glowing.

Of course, it all had to dissipate once he actually entered the building.

Hux knew there was something wrong before he had even gotten to his apartment. The building he lived in had been renovated about ten years prior to his moving in with Phasma, and in those renovations the walls were re-insulated in order to keep neighbors from overhearing every word of each other’s conversations. It was a common upgrade to old apartments in the neighborhood. The doors, however, and the walls leading to the hallway, did not receive the same treatment. At night Hux could more readily hear his neighbors chatting as they descended the stairs than he could anyone on the other side of his bedroom wall. 

It was for this exact reason that Hux was aware of the loud crash that echoed through the tight staircase down to where he stood, just turning the corner to the last flight before his floor. It wouldn’t have alarmed him, had he not immediately after heard a shout that sounded an awful lot like _Ren_. He climbed the stairs two at a time and threw his key into his lock, only to open the door and be met with the sight of a chunk of wood flying out from the hallway leading to the bedroom and hitting the floor with a sharp thud. It wasn’t alone as it settled to lay amongst chunks of what appeared to be canvas, still wet with paint which smeared the hardwood floors underneath it. A quick glance up to the kitchen showed identical paint on the cabinets, smeared in messy handprints over the handles, and some on the counters as well.

Hux was so suddenly angry that he could barely focus on one of the many things wrong in the apartment. The sudden vacuum of his rare good mood only elevated the heat he felt boiling under his skin. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw an orange blur as Millicent moved under the desk to hide, and every dam he had carefully constructed over his anger burst.

“ _Ren_!” he roared, and slammed the door behind him as he marched forward, around the corner and into the hallway. As he did Ren stepped out of his room, shirtless and damn near covered in the same paint coating the apartment. His face betrayed a mix of shock and anger, but Hux couldn’t tell if it was from seeing him home so soon, or the hard _shove_ Hux gave him, right in the middle of his chest, when he got close enough to do so. Ren threw a hand back against the wall to help steady himself as his leg darted behind him to keep him from falling. A little paint smudged the wall underneath his hand and it only served to enrage Hux even more.

“What the _hell_ is your problem?” Hux shouted, not caring to keep his voice down. He could vaguely tell that his face was probably red, as always happened when he got like this, but his composure or embarrassment over his lack of it were currently the last of his concerns.

Ren stared at him, seemingly stunned into silence. Hux could see gears moving in his head, like whatever thought process he had going previous to Hux showing up had been halted and his mind was desperately working to reorient him to his new conditions. When he seemed to figure out what was happening, his face darkened.

“You’re supposed to be at work!” he yelled back, in lieu of a real answer, now looking flustered on top of angry.

“ _That wasn’t what I asked you_!” Hux roared in return, only egged on by the dismissal of his question. “Is _this_ what you do all day when you aren’t in the subway peddling art? Throwing tantrums, _wrecking my apartment_ and scaring my cat?!”

Ren walked forward and Hux stood his ground, fingers itching, only for the other man to stalk past him, brushing his shoulder so hard Hux had to steady himself. The touch sent a bolt of what felt like lightning down Hux’s arm. He turned and watched as Ren walked up to the piece of wood he had just thrown, and in one swift movement picked it up and swung back around, pointing it at Hux as he spoke with a volume now only a few levels above his speaking voice instead of a hundred. “This is _as much_ my apartment as it is yours. I told you I clean up after myself, and clearly I’ve done a _good fucking job_ of it considering you haven’t noticed, despite being a detective, or whatever the fuck you are!”

“I’m a _lawyer_!” Hux yelled back as Ren turned away from him to pick up more pieces. The rebuttal sounded pathetic even to his own ears, but the hot rage that had been bubbling up into his throat was quickly cresting and falling into a frustrated, bone-deep exhaustion and a sharp headache. He wasn’t sure what was the most upsetting in that moment, the paint all over the apartment, the knowledge that this wasn’t the _first_ time Ren had done something like this while he wasn’t home, the complete ruination of the first good mood he had felt in weeks, or the combination of everything together.

Hux turned on his heel and stormed into his room, going straight to his bedside drawer and throwing it open. He considered the envelope of money, and the option of tossing it, Ren, and all of Ren’s belongings out on the street that very moment. The thought of the physical effort involved kept him from doing so, and instead he reached for what he had opened the drawer for in the first place, a small black pack of clove cigarettes and an old red lighter on it’s last leg. He turned back around and stalked out of his bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him to great satisfaction. As he walked out of the hall he leveled his gaze at Ren as sternly as he knew how, and judging by how Ren stopped what he was doing to return it, his glare was still as effective as always. Good.

“You have until I get back to make it so I forget this ever happened, or so help me god _Kylo Ren_ , I will throw you out of this apartment so fast the paint stains on your shirts won’t have time to catch up.”

Hux spun around and walked out the front door, slamming that one behind him as well for good measure. He couldn’t deal with this today. Not Ren, not the mess in his apartment, not the anger slowly pooling in his fists and only somewhat sated by the loud bang the door made behind him. He took the stairs up to the roof two at a time until he reached the door, stopping himself from slamming it too, knowing it would draw too much attention. The last thing he wanted was to have this spot taken from him on top of everything else.

He flopped himself into his usual chair, trying not to look at Phasma’s sitting quietly next to him while he lit his cigarette with shaking hands. Of course the peace wouldn’t last. To expect someone like Ren to have learned a lesson, to have actually _changed_ his behavior instead of just shifting it to a time where he wouldn’t be caught like a child, it was too much. To think, he had actually begun to feel bad for treating him the way he had those weeks ago.

Hux took a long drag and held it in his lungs for longer than necessary, but he relished the slight buzz that flooded his mind and body. He hadn’t smoked in months, but streak be damned. He had never really decided to quit in the first place, and Phasma wasn’t here to chastise him about it. The only person he lived with now and for the foreseeable future until his lease was up was the absolute disaster of a human being that was Kylo fucking Ren, and he was pretty sure his smoking habit was not high on the list of things his roommate was concerned with. No, the top of that list was being a nuisance. 

As he savored and smoked his cigarette down to the filter Hux reached for another. He generally hated chain-smoking, he found it to be classless, but felt that if he went down to the apartment before Ren had gotten everything back in order he might find himself _on_ trial instead of working one. He smoked slowly, taking his time to let the chemicals take full effect. He was in no rush, after all. He had nothing left to do with his ruined day.

It had been about a half hour, and Hux had been wishing he had the foresight to bring up a beer as he left when he heard the metal door to the roof creak slowly behind him. He turned, an apology for being up there ready on his lips, but instead scowled when he caught sight of who was coming up to disturb him.

“I was wondering if you were up here,” Ren said, standing in the doorway but not making a move to go any further. He wore a dark blue shirt now, only mildly paint-stained with the name of what had to be a band on the front, and seemed to have washed most of the paint off his arms and face. He was leaning in the frame, arms crossed in front of him, and he seemed to Hux...strangely unsure of himself. His voice held no malice, really almost no inflection at all, reserved and very unlike him.

Hux kept glaring. “Yes, I am. How did you know there’s an ‘up here’ to begin with?”

Ren shrugged one large shoulder, looking to the side and avoiding Hux’s eyes. “I came up a couple weeks ago looking for a ventilated place to spray paint. I saw the chairs but wasn’t sure whose they were, so I decided against it. When I saw you leave with the cigarettes and didn’t find you out front I figured I would check here.” He paused, nursing his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes still averted. He wasn’t talking with his usual gib demeanor. It was then Hux noticed that his shoulders were slumped, his fingers were fidgeting, and he had one ankle crossed over the other in addition to his arms over his chest. Body language was something Hux prided himself on being able to read like a book, and for once Ren looked positively insecure. Hux’s glare softened to something a little more neutral, realizing that at least there probably wasn’t another screaming match ahead. It was another moment before Ren spoke up again, gesturing to the chairs. “Are these yours, then?”

Hux looked at the other chair then, Phasma’s absence from it still an uncomfortable sight. “Yes. My roommate and I brought them up when we moved in.”

Out of the corner of his eye Hux could see Ren push himself off the doorframe and walk towards him, stopping just behind the other chair, placing his hands on the back. “Could I…” he paused for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, looking for the right words that wouldn’t set Hux off. “Can I sit?”

Hux wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “Are you going to break the chair and toss it off the roof?”

Ren winced as if struck, but didn’t move his hands from the chair’s back. “I deserve that.”

“Ah, he’s become self-aware.”

“I deserve that too.”

A silence passed between them. Hux had been expecting a lot of things after this fight (and this was, in fact, a fight). He had expected to go downstairs and find Ren half-packed to leave on his own. He had expected Ren to be even more reclusive, staying in his room and not coming out. He had even expected the apartment to look the exact same, with Ren defying him just to be an ass. What he hadn’t expected was this, Ren standing next to him, making no move to take a seat until Hux told him he could. Hux was tempted to send him away, or to tell him no just to see if the old Ren would rear his head again and sit anyway just to spite him, but when he saw the other man shifting slightly from foot to foot he took pity and relented. “You can sit. I’m serious about not breaking the chair though, they’re old.”

Ren seemed relieved as he stepped around the chair and gently lowered his bulk into it. He was as tall as Phasma, broader, but still fit well enough despite the protesting squeak the plastic let out as all of Ren’s weight settled into it. They sat in silence while Hux smoked and Ren seemed to think about what he was going to say next. Hux was content enough to let him sweat it out and not start the conversation himself. He was intensely curious as to what quip or excuse Ren would come up with to explain his behavior, or try to justify why it was okay to trash his apartment while he was gone. Hux wondered if it would be the Ren he met when he first moved in that made the excuse, or the more subdued Ren of recent weeks that would try to explain himself. Surely whichever one it was, it would equally make him angry-

“I’m sorry.”

Well, that hadn’t been what Hux was expecting. 

He glanced over at Ren and saw that the other man wasn’t even looking at him. He was wringing his hands slightly in his lap, fixated on the movement. For as large as he was, in that moment, Ren looked very small. This was the opposite of that night a few weeks previous. Then, Ren had seemed large, imposing, ready to take whatever it was that he wanted. Now he looked much more...human. Hux felt his shoulders loosen a bit as some of the anger still left in him melted away, although his stubbornness wouldn’t let the matter drop so quickly.

“I should think you are. Please, at least tell me you don’t do that _every_ day when I’m gone.”

Ren looked over at Hux then, immediately defensive. “Not every day!” he said quickly, voice a bit raised, but then seemed to come back to himself. “Just once or twice,” he followed in his normal speaking voice.

Hux let out an exasperated sigh. “Ren-”

“I know, I know!” Ren’s frustration was evident enough that Hux was set back on edge, but then Ren seemed to reel himself back in as he did before. Hux was impressed with just how much he seemed to be controlling himself against his clear urges to lash out, using a restraint he hadn’t known Ren possessed. It made him take Ren a little more seriously when he spoke again. “Just. I know. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t lie when I said I clean it up. It’s spotless down there now, not a smear to be seen, even on the walls.”

“I believe you, but that doesn’t change the fact that we have _neighbors_ , Ren. If one of them complains about the noise of breaking wood being slammed around and you yelling like a maniac you could get us both evicted.” 

Guilt was evident on Ren’s features as he looked down at his hands again, which were now bunched on his thighs. They clenched and unclenched and Ren opened his mouth twice to start speaking only to close it again, seemingly trying to find his words and coming up frustratingly empty. Finally he let out a gruff sigh before pointing to the pack of cigarettes still cradled in Hux’s lap. “Fuck. Can I have one of those?”

Without hesitation Hux handed Ren his pack, which Ren took and then promptly looked aghast, the first expression he had made that looked like himself in recent memory. Hux tried not to think about how a little bit of relief crept into his mind at the sight. 

“You seriously smoke Blacks? You don’t fuck around with anything, do you Matchstick?”

For the first time, Hux didn’t mind hearing Ren use the stupid nickname he had given him. He even smiled a little, the corner of his mouth twitching up at what Hux took to be a compliment, at least by his own standards for himself. “I don’t, in fact, ‘fuck around with anything’. Don’t worry though, if you can’t handle them I understand.”

Ren looked at him then and searched his face, seeming cautious of Hux’s intentions until he could see that Hux was teasing him. The tense air that had settled around them seemed to lift a bit as Ren swiped the lighter from Hux’s outstretched hand and lit his cigarette, handing both the lighter and the pack back while he took a short drag. To his credit, he didn’t cough, despite Hux being able to tell that the taste wasn’t to his liking. Cloves were an intense cigarette, one that he had smoked since he started in college but was not a preferred choice for many.

They were both content to smoke in silence then, the only noise coming from the street below and the soft exhales that escaped their lips. Ren closed his eyes to let the tobacco do it’s work, and when he opened them again Hux noticed that his hands weren’t fidgeting as much.

Hux had already decided that he would accept Ren’s apology, and was about to tell him as much when Ren spoke up first. “When pieces don’t come out right, I have...problems, holding my frustration.” His voice was calmer, more serious, and he paused frequently, but he spoke like he was trying to get something out. “When I’m angry at something else I can deal with it better, at least better than when I was younger, but when I’m angry at myself...it’s never been easy for me to hide it.”

Hux didn’t speak, he simply watched Ren to indicate that he was listening. After a month of trying to pry information out of the other man, to have him talk about himself in any way to no avail, this openness was something he had no intention of stopping.

“I get frustrated and I lash out. At my work, at myself. I've been in a rut for months and I can’t break out of it.”

Ren looked more vulnerable than Hux had ever seen him, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away as he spoke up. “Those pieces you had in the subway station, though. They were very good. And I’m not just saying that. Had it not been, well, _you_ selling them, I probably would have bought that one I was looking at.”

That earned a chuckle out of Ren and Hux felt accomplished. The ease of Ren’s smile lended itself to his face, Hux noticed now. Insecurity didn’t suit him at all.

“Well, thank you, but those aren’t anything on the caliber of what I should be making.”

Hux thought on the quality of Ren’s work, and how talented he seemed to be. He struggled to think of how high Ren’s expectations for himself had to be to constitute a meltdown when they weren’t achieved. “What is the caliber, then?”

Ren seemed to think for a moment, as if debating if he had let out too much information. Hux half expected him to stop talking, or to shrug him off as he used to, but to his surprise Ren spoke again. “There’s a large, fairly notorious art show coming up in three months. In Albany. They’re taking open submissions for the show and the auction following it, and if I can just make something- if I can just make something _good enough_ I know it would launch me to where I should be. But it has to be the best, my best work. And everything I make is just-” Ren took a deep breath, looking down at his hands before letting it out and collapsing in on himself. Hux’s heart clenched a bit seeing him deflate again, a strange part of him needing Ren to go back to how he was just a minute prior, joking, open. “Everything I make has been crap.”

Ren fell quiet then, and Hux turned from him to look out at their paltry view of Brooklyn, trying to think of what to say. What he wanted more than anything was to find the words that would comfort the other man, or at least emphasize that Hux really, truly did like his art. For the weeks Hux had spent trying to crack Ren’s exterior, he found that he wasn’t sure what to do now that Ren had opened it up for him. He was offering a bit of himself to Hux, and perhaps that was something he felt he needed to do to atone for his behavior, but it was a piece of him nonetheless. Ren’s hands began to fidget again and Hux wondered when the last time he opened up to anyone was. When the last time he admitted to anyone that he wasn’t sure of himself, that he wasn’t confident in what he was doing.

Hux couldn’t remember the last time he had done that himself, either.

Finally he found the words to speak. “I can’t say that I know about making art, or how frustrating it can be,” he started, pausing for a moment to compose his next sentence in his head. It was a brief pause, and practiced from years of speaking in front of a jury, making sure what came from his mouth was exactly what he intended. “But I do know a thing or two about running yourself into a brick wall hoping it will budge. I've been doing a decent amount of that myself, in the past couple of months.” Out of the corner of his eye Hux could see that Ren was looking at him now, but he still stared forward, eyes fixated on the building across from them. “I can let go of today, and...I want to apologize as well, for before. I was needlessly harsh to you those weeks ago. I won’t claim to be the best when dealing with my own frustrations either. But I think going forward, if we can be mindful of each other, perhaps we can at the very least coexist without the lease ending in a murder charge. We could even help each other, maybe, if we can find it in ourselves to actually talk.”

Hux looked over to Ren then, who had a look on his face that seemed like disbelief, his eyes locked on Hux’s. The scrutiny made Hux uncomfortable, and he leaned back a bit, defensive. “What?” he asked. Had what he said really been that outlandish?

It took a beat, but Ren smiled properly then, his big shit-eating grin that Hux had not realized quite how much he missed while it was gone. Something that had coiled up tight in Hux’s chest loosened at the sight. 

“Alright, you’ve got a deal,” Ren declared, then shot up, the chair letting out a high pitched squeak of protest. Hux nearly flinched when Ren suddenly offered his hand. “We’ll seal it with food. It’s proper protocol. I’ll make a grocery run, there’s barely anything in the fridge.”

The sudden switch in demeanor threw Hux for a moment, but he found himself taking Ren’s hand regardless, silently grateful for the help up from the low old chair. They both began walking to the metal door leading back into the building, and although Hux searched Ren’s face for any sign that he was faking his mood, his smile seemed genuine. Was he really so easy to please? Hux was sure what he said hadn’t been _that_ revolutionary. If anything, it had been base levels of civil.

Still, Ren prattled on next to him. “What’s your favorite food? I feel like I wanna make up for tossing my paint all over the kitchen, so we can do your choice tonight. _Wait_ no, don’t tell me, let me guess...Italian. You like Italian food. I bet you do, you look like you do.”

Hux couldn’t help but let out a small laugh with how enthusiastic Ren seemed. “You’re somewhat right, but since we’re being honest, I only like Italian food when it’s eighty percent cheese.”

Ren seemed incredibly pleased with himself. “Called it! Alright, the market down the street has pretty good mozzarella, I can grab that and some fresh basil, do you like meat in your sauce? I bet they’ve got sausage…”

Hux found himself zoning out while Ren listed off the frankly delicious sounding ingredients he planned to acquire, instead relishing in the immense feeling of relief that things seemed to be back to normal, perhaps even better that normal. Definitely better than they were before. 

As the metal door shut behind them, he found he didn’t mind leaving the empty chairs behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like the fic, consider checking out the [playlist](http://8tracks.com/fraxlnus/blue-tide-pulling-me-under) or [reblogging the post on my tumblr](http://fraxinus.tumblr.com/post/141932114197/blue-tide-pulling-me-under-after-his-roommate) for it. Chapter fun fact: I smoked blacks all through college, it really does make people think you're a badass.


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